Nowhere Man
by power0girl
Summary: Sequel to the lovely 'Love Me Do' by Marlboro Blanc, John is alone and on the run. What all does he have to do before he can finally go home? Will there be a home to go home to when he does?
1. Making All His Nowhere Plans

John (or Ioannes, as he tried to remind himself continuously) double checks his knapsack for the provisions and equipment necessary for the climb. Nodding to himself he shoulders the pack with a wistful thought, 'Harry would have loved...' Forcefully he stops that line of thought and plasters a pleasant demeanour on.

Cultivating his fake Greek-accented english he rounds the corner of the taverna to see the guest he's taking up the mountain. "Ah, here we are 'kupia', ready for your adventure?"

The woman in her early forties gives him a tiny smile, "Yes, I'm excited to see what the higher portions of Mount Dikti have to offer!"

"Vaì kalà, shall we be getting on then?" he shoulders a satchel as well as another bottle of water. Trying to immerse himself into his cover persona. Ioannes, the washed out military grunt who helps his cousin with the tours in and around the Diktaean Cavern.

Petros, a very kind man, had a brother stationed on Cypres at the same time as John. Phaeton (the brother) had always been very proud of the fact that his family came from the cradle of civilisation, both Minoan and the origin of the gods. He frequently told John stories about his brother who worked as a guide for the local land mark caverns. Often saying they should head down there on leave, but John always went back to England to see his ailing mother.

Some years later, out of the blue, John received notice of Phaeton's passing through Petros. Apparently the brothers had often talked, through the years, of the troubled young Englishman with the sick mother. Petros related that his brother had taken a fatal wound in a freak accident during a riot. He went on to express Phaeton's high opinion of John and repeated his younger brother's offer to put-up John if he ever decided to visit.

'I wonder if Phaeton ever thought I'd be seeking asylum with his brother some day... Probably, he was almost as bad as Sherlock.'

That thought burns through him like acid and he actually stumbles kicking loose some rock on the trail. Covering his lack of observance by turning around to converse with the woman he's guiding, he tries to keep his expression from revealing any of the inner turmoil in his heart, and tugs his cap down low over his eyes.

"Petros told me your name, but sadly my memory isn't all that it should be."

She smiles, "My name is Mary, Mary Morstan, and you are my capable guide Ioannes, younger cousin to Petros."

John nods, "Yes I am, but what is a lovely lady like yourself doing traveling about, like this, without a man to protect her?" Inwardly John is cringing, he would never say something so horribly sexist to a modern woman, but things are different here. Not that the men are sexist, really, more chivalry is still quite strong, and John knows to emulate the common cultural gaffs that Mary has probably heard dozens of times already on her trip.

Mary, wry smirk on her face, none the less answers his question, "My father was stationed in India, and my mother died while I was a toddler; so as I was educated in the UK, one can imagine I traveled a lot between the two on my own."

Nodding emphatically along with her, John turns and begins climbing again, Well that's lovely, he's half alienated the person he has to spend three nights with, up on a mountain no less, brilliant.

"You do that out loud you know?"

John freezes, for a moment his brain cannot separate the teasing jovial tone Mary employes from the memory of Sherlock dispassionately stating the obvious. All he can do is drop his head and pretend to be suppressing laughter. Without turning he replies, trying to imbue the words with carefree emotions that just aren't there.

"Yeah well, Petros always says I'm not really fit for cultured company, that I fit out here and no where else. Maybe he's right." As John rounds a switchback in the trail he's caught by Mary's eyes. Not because she is looking at him full of pity, but acceptance and understanding.

He finishes the climb silently.

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John is dreaming, of that he is certain, but that is all he knows. He feels as though he is being drug through a shallow, but very fast flowing rivulet of dark fetid water that has an oily film on the surface. He recognises the chaotic jumble as his memories, but every time he 'breaks the surface' within the dream he looses himself to a memory.

Horrible screeching easily recognisable as Harry devolves into moans, then a broken whispered voice breaks through, "Jonny? Dear god Jonny, run... I'm so..." Her voice is suddenly cut short, Jim's hands clenching impossibly tight, robbing her of any ability to speak, let alone breathe.

John sits bolt upright, sweat pouring down off his face, breath whistling through his aching throat, as though he's been heaving it in for ages already. After a few minutes his eyes focus on the fire, then the fact that he isn't alone, and lastly that Mary is watching him from the depths of her sleeping bag. "Sorry." is all he manages to croak out.

Popping her head and shoulders out of the warmth she props herself up on the cold stony ground, "Please don't feel you need to apologise for things that are torturing you, I was awake already so you didn't disturb me at all." John happily takes the diversion, "Why were you awake already?"

"I'll tell you, if you tell me what woke you." her almost flirtatious tone belied by her eyes that seem to be tracking his reactions. John feels an anxious fluttering in his stomach as he is once again reminded of Sherlock's appraising looks.

Not that John doesn't think about his past love often, if not every day, but it isn't usually in comparison to another person. Calming himself further before answering he stares into the fire.  
"I saw a lot of action a while back and somehow I'm the only one left. My dreams are all a horrible jumble of war and fighting for my life, it's... horrible."

Mary settles back into her sleeping bag, pulling the ties tight to hold the warmth in, "I left someone back home, and sometimes I'm not sure I should have."

John rolls himself back up in a ball facing the fire, "That's where I have you beat, my dear, I know I shouldn't have left him behind." Closing his eyes and rolling away he pretends to have fallen asleep when her confused voice asks him, "Who?"

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In the morning they both behave as though the conversation had never taken place. There was no awkward moment of pretending it didn't mean anything, just the silent agreement, of two adults, that what they said was all that could be, and it was a significant turning point for each of them.

Mary took reels and reels of photos off the upper trails, beautiful vistas and charmingly delappitated windmills, and the two of them relaxed significantly as their trip went on.

Text MSGs

10/09/12 19:44Rob: Boss, she's gone up the mountain with a questionable guide. Can you get a grunt to check him out? Ioannes Kostas?

14/09/12 8:05Jim: WHERE ARE THEY? NOW!

14/09/12 8:07Rob: Still on the mountain boss, GPS tag on my phone is approximate, I'm staying at their home base at the taverna.

14/09/12 8:07Jim: start up the mountain, do NOT engage, but make sure they are STILL THERE. I'll be there in a few hours.

14/09/12 8:08Rob: Your coming here? I', going up right now.

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Notes: 'kupia' (pronounced kyira) is Greek for 'lady'.

vaì kalà (pronounced nai kala) is 'yeah right'.


	2. A Point Of View

John looked across at Mary as they began the descent. Opposite to how he thought she'd look at the end of a wonderful three days taking pictures up in the mountains, as soon as they start heading down she's looking stressed and twitchy. His instincts as a soldier boil over in an instant and he reaches out to stop her.

"Mary?" he waits till she's looking full at him, "That someone you left behind in England?"

Her cheeks come up a bit ruddy, her frame rigid "Yes?"

"Are you perhaps worried they might not have stayed in England?"

Her entire face becomes rigid with fear, "Why?" she says turning her head to look down the trail ahead, "What did you see?"

Thinking quickly, John turns and heads off the trail, "Come on." He takes several steps down the trail before he realises she's not following. With a huff of frustration he traverses back and grabs onto the strapping of her hiking pack and tugs, "We need to talk, preferably somewhere we aren't seen, so let's go!"

All the while trying to look menacing Mary slowly follows John to a screen of scrub he's crouched down behind. Looking down-hill a moment she gets distracted and walks off the track John made and when she looks for him the mountainside is empty. Spinning around she starts to hyperventilate with worry, 'Where has he gone.' there is one or two bunches of vegetation, but none of them can hide a person, let alone two!

Suddenly a voice right beside and above her, "Mary! I'm right here!"

Jumping slightly she spins to the left to see 'Ioannes's head poking out over the edge of a plant that she would have thought couldn't hide a dog! "My god, why couldn't I see you?" Her guide laughs, "I was stationed on Cyprus and then later Afghanistan," he flips back his blanket and shoves his pack a bit around the edge of the plant. "one either finds a place to hide, or you die there."

Something comes to her suddenly, that 'Ioannes's blanket he's been sleeping under is actually a dirt covered camo print, and his rucksack as well. Mary's lips open to ask him why when another thought pops into her brain. 'Greek troops weren't deployed in Afghanistan...' her eyes widen in shock as she scrambles away from him in the dust.

John who had been watching the hillside carefully, catching a glint of light off moving metal, is only half listening and is as such caught completely flat footed. He swears he can see in his minds eye how her scramble would look to someone looking for them from below. 'Bollocks!'

"Mary!" too late, by far, to keep the story going he hisses out, "think that through, regardless of why I'm not really Ioannes, do you think I'd wait till we were heading back to the taverna, rather than toss you off some of the lovely escarpments we've been on and tell officials a sad tale when I returned?"

'Shit! Was that a second flash? Who ever it is must be running now.' Trying desperately to look as unassuming as possible, he turns back to her, "Mary, please, for the love of god! Remember the first night, and what we said, please stop painting targets on our heads."

A quickly as the panic came it went and Mary is staring downhill with John. In moments she too sees a flash of light intermittently twinkling as their pursuer travels at just the right (or wrong from his point of view) angle to the sunlight.

"Right, let's get out of here, you can tell me who the hell you are later."

Grimly gathering everything up, including her pack, John barks out a laugh, "If we live long enough I'll tell you everything. Keep bent at the waist and knees as much of the time as you can, the topography will help us a bit there." throws the blanket at her, "drape that around your shoulders, your pink jacket isn't doing us any favours!"

Silently now he checks her bag is secured on his chest, under the straps of his rucksack, and everything else is left under the bush. Tugging her along in a diagonal to the trail he heads up to the edge of a ravine running away from the trail. Directing her one handed in front of him he obscures the tracks they've made as much as possible moving crouched over practically on hands and knees.

Once they are in the ravine, he stops to look back down the mountain for a while. "Okay Mary, I don't think your revelation is going to get us killed this morning, so let's take this route down and I'll tell you what you need to know."

Mary nods curtly and follows his quick steps down the slope, after five or ten minutes of walking they come to a fairly densely covered, bubbling rivulet of a stream. Surrounded on all sides by tall cypress trees they feel it's somewhere safe they can stop to drink some water and catch their breath. Leaning back against his pack, John strips away his Grecian cap, kerchief and yanks his tags out from under his vest, proudly displaying them against his shirt.

Smiling he extends his right hand, "Hello," his English accent strong and clear, "my name is John Hamish Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, it is nice to meet you."

Mary, with an odd look on her face, of not quite believing the rabbit hole she's fallen in, shakes the extended hand completely forgetting to let go. "Right, and this is true now?"

With a concerned expression he shifts her fingers to lie over his pulse point and nods encouragingly at her. Mary asks her fist question, "Why are you here?"

Feeling his pulse stutter under her fingers, John thinks a moment about Sherlock and how much he has given up in the last year, the people he has let down. Getting ahold of the panic he swallows a couple times to steady his voice, "There are a few reasons, and I could spread around the blame, but ultimately I fell in love and I had to leave him to stay alive."

Mary blinks, absorbing John's words, "Why?"

His free hand fisting in frustration John turns his head to look into the flowing water. "It's a long story, but the gist is, my older sister Harriet broke the heart of a young lady who happened to be under the protection of a very powerful man, her older brother."

His face takes on a lost look, "And that man decided that he wanted me as restitution, at first I thought he would just force me to lie or steal, but I was wrong." Looking at her carefully, "Did you hear about Sherlock Holmes at all? As far as I know he wasn't that well known." He pauses to give her time to think about it and eventually she nods.

"I do recall hearing something about him... Didn't he solve... Oh my god, your that John Watson! Doctor John Watson?! I was on your blog once or twice, good lord that's weird!"

John nods, "A bit yeah, but here we are. Did you ever read the case files, like 'Study in Pink,' or 'The Great Game'?" she shakes her head no, "Well there was a man behind a lot of our cases, like a criminal master mind, who set them all up. He was the man my sister offended. I was sent to spy on Sherlock and keep things from him, as if that would cancel the dept my sister owed, but it couldn't last."

"Somehow despite my 'orders' we fell in love and consummated that love. Which my employer did not tolerate well. He had me kidnapped and tortured to within an inch of my life. In fact if it had not been for my land lady coming home from the shops to find me in the street I would have died in mere minutes."

His pulse is thundering along as he sees the last minutes of his torture, the rape he will not tell this woman about, that he wished no one else knew about. Shaking the memory away, like a dog does water, he continues "It was clear that this man wanted me dead, and that would hurt Sherlock, so once I was fit for travel my sister and I left under assumed names with false documents."

Mary watched this strange chameleon of a man's face become drawn with anguish and remembered pain. Pulling her fingers away she shifts a bit nearer, "So you are a fugitive from a criminal master mind, maybe we should pool our resources."

John quirks an eyebrow, "And what are you a fugitive from?"

Mary shrugs up one shoulder and pokes the heel of her hiking boot into the dirt by the stream, "My fiancé, Rand Savage. I met his father when I was twelve visiting my father in India and they both thought we'd hit it off. You know that weird thing some friends do where they say 'Oh our kids should marry, wouldn't that be nice,' but no one ever means it... I think Rand's father did. When I was sixteen he wrote my father and asked if all was well with me and if he had found me a match yet."

Glancing up to see the incredulous look John's giving her, Mary laughs, "Yeah, I know, it is the 21st century, right? Well it was the 20th century at the time, not that it mattered, my Father had been living as well as working in a country where women's rights don't apply to everyone, so his ideals tend to skew a bit toward old fashioned."

"You know the funny thing, while I am a feminist, generally speaking, this idea I'd marry his son didn't enrage me like it should have." she waves the oddness of the statement away with her hand. "I don't know, maybe it was the picture of him, his father sent along with the letter to my father, he was quite dashing and fit." Mary's cheeks colour a bit, "I was only 16 after all and it's quite possible I was compromised by such things."

John arches his eyebrow, "I see, that fit was he?"

Her blush darkens, "Uhm, yes? He was the typical tall dark and handsome dream, you know?" John nods his eyes taking on a far away look, "I can understand an attraction to tall and dark, yes."

Mary looks at him for a few moments, "That's right, Sherlock Holmes quite dark isn't he?"

John nods, his expression both wistful and steeped in sorrow, "As well as being tall, he's six foot and builwhippets greyhound." fumbling in his pockets he pulls out his wallet and digs into the back flap, pulling open the seam, he extracts a worn picture of a man Mary instantly recognises.

"Oh him! He's been in the news a lot lately, solving the unsolvable for the Met so they say." She looks closely at the photo, avoiding Johns desperate expression, "He doesn't look half this good though, skinnier and a bit..." she pauses and then looks at John for a long moment. "Well just like you actually, sorry."

Carefully putting the photo back in it's hidden seam, John shakes his head a bitter smile on his lips, "Actually, the news that he's still working, solving crimes, is the best thing I've heard all year, thank you."

Looking away in an attempt to give the wounded man beside her some space, Mary looks up into the cypress tree above them. "Rand is a lot more muscular than your Sherlock, but likes well cut suits about the same." Mary giggles slightly, half in amusement, half in discomfort for her guide. "Like I said, it was probably hormones that made me entertain the idea in the first place and as the years went by I forgot about it."

"Then one day at Uni I was in the pub with a truly horrendous bloke, one pint and he thought he could paw at me however he chose, I got pretty indignant, though quiet. I had just tromped on his toes as hard as I could when a familiar face appeared across the dingy pub. It was Rand, he'd turned to see where the horrific screech came from and caught my eye."

"Like a perfect gentleman he came over and said hello. By the time we had exchanged greetings my 'date' was nowhere to be seen. Apparently he was in London for a conference, he was doing a business degree at Oxford, and would be in town a week. We met a couple times, but I... Well, truth be told in the back of my head that old letter kept pestering me. So I blew him off a couple times and he seemed to get the hint and I didn't hear from him for five years."

Looking back at John's clearly interested face she carries on, "You know, I seem to attract the same kind of man over and over, they seem nice and biddable enough till we've been together for a few months, and after Uni I had the worst luck! Admittedly I kept running into Rand, but I was always in a relationship when I saw him, except the last time."

"I guess I was always a bit suspicious of him just wanting to be with me just because his father had suggested it, but after he asked me out to coffee seven or eight times I relented and agreed only if he answered my concerns." Laughing humourlessly at herself she runs a hand through her fringe, "He explained his father had a degenerative illness, and couldn't make him do anything. That last visit I'd seen him, when I was twelve, was just before he was diagnosed and he hasn't been out of the hospital since. Of course I asked, why he was interested in me, and he blushed admitting he'd seen a picture of me in among his Father's holiday snaps and thought I was pretty."

"God I was so thick John, I just accepted this strange story, didn't question how he recognised me that night in the pub, I didn't question why he was there when I ran from the last relationship. But here I was, late twenties and I started thinking I had better start looking to settle down, so when Rand asked me out to coffee again I agreed, eight months later he proposed."

"I started to wonder the day I met his business partner Jim. God, that man sent shivers down my spine every time he walked in the room..." she starts and falls silent as John's hand falls on her arm. Looking at him with wide eyes she waits for him to either say something or pass out.

John, his ears ringing and the world spinning around him, swallows convulsively, "What... wha... tell me about him, please." His vision greying out at the edges, John waits breathlessly for her answer.

Mary, searching his face, worried answers as best she can. "He's only an inch or so taller than you, dark hair and, god, almost black eyes they're so dark brown..." she pauses as the colour drains out of John's face. Grimly he grits out, "Tell me about his accent."

Mary's hand flies to cover her mouth in shock and horror, her eyes round, "How did you know he has an accent?" John just shakes his head 'no' waiting for her to continue. "He has a lilting soft Irish accent he sometimes obscures behind an Oxford accent, Rand said he picked it up Uni when they attended Oxford together. He's what Rand calls a fixer, and I have to admit he makes my soul quake."

Lurching to his feet John runs a few paces away and retches uselessly into the dust for a few minutes. Mary stares after him a moment then she slowly walks toward him. "Do you know this man John? Do you know his name?"

Shifting back on his haunches, wiping the spittle from his face John looks up at his equally pale hiking companion, "Jim, Jim, fucking, Moriarty. Oh my GOD." John jumps upright to grab at her upper arms, "How long have you been on the run?"

Feeling, very suddenly, confused Mary shakes her head, "Well about eight weeks I guess, why?"

Clutching her arms tighter, "Have you been using any of your cards? Any ID?"

She looks at him like he's gone a bit mad, "Of course? I pay cash when I can, but I had to use my passport to get to Greece!" Leaning away from John now, she's beginning to worry about his fevered expression. That's when the other shoe drops. "Oh my god, he's the man your sister got into trouble with!"

John lets go of Mary, shoving her lightly to the side and scrambling to get his pack back on. "Yes, and you haven't been very careful in your travels, which means you may well have made this last year, of hell, count for nothing! All of this time alone, killing us both with heart ache undone by me sticking to my bloody cover! Bloody buggering fuck! You've lead him right to me!"

Grabbing up her pack he starts toward Mary, "Put this on, we have to get off this mountain." shaking her head in awe she get it on, Mary hurries behind John as he jumps into the shallow stream and starts walking downstream.


	3. What He's Going To Do

John's eyes are blind the the beautiful view ahead of them, in the gorgeous patchwork of fields bellow holds only possible enemies lying in wait for them. A part of his mind stores the view for later, a trick he learned from his beloved, as he looks back to check on Mary. Stifling irritation he slows his pace, knowing that keeping her at a fast trot through the shallow stream is only asking for her to fall in it.

"Sorry Mary, you have to speak up if I've gone on too long at a pace, I'll forget and channel my basic training otherwise." John watches as she slows to a walk her arm clasped to her side, 'She must have developed a stitch,' gulping in air she speaks, "Sor-sorry John. I was saving the breath needed talking to, well, breathe!"

John smiles at her, "Next time just kick some water up at me." as he riffles through his pockets for his folding binoculars. He actually comes to a full stop as he scans the top of the ravine they started in an hour ago. Frozen like a rabbit in the headlamps he scans the crest of the hill silently, "So far we have been lucky. Our sniper was several hours below us on the trail when we left it, and I covered our trail well enough that on the first pass he will not see where we left it."

"So he'll likely climb all the way to our last camp and upon finding it abandoned, work his way back down looking for our trail. This should take him the better part of the day. We did have that long stop where we discovered our mutual 'friend'," John spits the word out like it is full of barbs and poison, "which has slowed us up a fair bit. Though our recent progress has made up for it I think."

Pointing now the way they must travel, "We have to go down and around that long curve, that's why I've been pressing so hard, because if he gets to the head of the ravine before we get around that bend he can shoot us dead."

He notes the pallor of his companion and does some quick adjustments in his mind. "Give me your pack please." at her confused look he starts taking his pack off. "Look, I'm trained military, accustomed to carrying a ruck twice the weight of the one I have today. Your a holidayer who's not used to fast travel. We need to move fast to not have our heads blown off. This is not about me being a man, it's training. I know several men you'd march into the ground."

Mary, who's facial expression had gone from confused to irritated, then to amused, just shakes her head and strips off the pack. "Yeah, yeah, I'm happy to be rid of the damn thing. How the hell are you standing there not even out of breath after all our dashing about?!"

John chuckles as he slips the smaller pack on his chest and then manoeuvres his own ruck onto his back, "Well, I have been living off the grid for two years, so I've been walking everywhere and working to pay my way rather than using currency or cards." Wiggling his toes in his boots John looks contemplatively at the ankle deep water they are moving through. "Mary? How are your feet doing? Developing any chilblains?"

Mary lifts one foot and shakes the water out a bit, "You know I have no idea, my feet are so cold and wet!" John nods and turns to start up again, "Okay, we have maybe twenty minutes to get around that bend, if we jog straight through, are you game?"

"Now that you've taken the pack off me, sure."

John gives her a wide smile and shifts into 'captain' mode again, "Alright Morstan, no lagging behind now lightweight, let's move out!" Suppressing giggles the two of them start jogging downstream.

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14/09/12 12:23Jim: I'm on the island, app two hours till I get to you, update.

14/09/12 12:48Rob: Quick trip Boss, I'm halfway up to what is commonly used as a campsite at the end of these tours. No sightings yet, but that's not unusual, early day yet and if they decided to extend their stay, I'll be ready for them when they get to the camp site.

14/09/12 12:49Jim: What do you mean you haven't seen them, from what I've seen of the surveillance your ascent/descent route should be exposed, you should have seen them in four hours of climbing! You had better not bollocks this up, or I'll make your arse my footstool!

14/09/12:51Rob: She doesn't know we are this close boss, she won't be looking for a tail in the mountains. It's probably just like France, she wanted to ditch the feeling of being surrounded in the city, so she's off in the wilds with a fit bloke for a couple nights. Next thing we know she'll be back leading me a merry chase again.

14/09/12 12:51Jim: Do not presume to think for yourself, just bloody well keep your mind on target, her guide is ex-military.

Throwing his phone aside in disgust Jim flips through the maps and photos the local geologist provided him. There were a few nooks and crannies, his informant had told I'm about, that would be adequate cover from someone on the mountain with you. But the minute you add an arial component to the search those spots are completely exposed.

All except one, and that is where John will go, "Cradle of Zeus, huh? Well soon enough it will be the tomb of one John Hamish Watson."

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	4. The World Is At Your Command

With quite a few glances over his should at the end there, John guides Mary around the bend and into a sheltered spot. Urging her to sit on the pack he throws down, John starts rifling through his, "Alright we traveled through the water for a couple kilometres, they shouldn't be able to follow now with dogs even if they tried." Ignoring her squeak of panic, "Now get those wet boots and socks off, I need to see your toes."

"You don't think they'll bring dogs do you?" John watched as she shivered in the hot September sunshine, "I do not put anything past James Moriarty, he is a relentless snake." John mutters under his breath examining her feet.

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14/09/12 14:37Jim: I'm here. Status?

14/09/13 14:38Rob: Thought I saw people on the trail above me, haven't caught up to them no matter how hard I've tried. Retracing down the mountain.

14/09/13 14:38Jim: Start praying you catch them up, now.

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Patting her feet dry John applies cream and gauze to the pinkend toes, "Why do you think he knows your here John?" trying to control the tremor in his left hand at Mary's gentile question he tries to avoid answering, "Okay be careful and put a dry pair of socks on. Different shoes as well, we won't be going in the water, or off path anymore, so trainers or flats will do. Just not sandals"

"John?" her eyes full of concern she stops him from moving with a hand gently laid on his arm. All at once something slips into place, an elusive thought coming forward to make itself known. Hs gaze is too restless, his posture coiled for attack even though, all they have seen of pursuit is a hiker several hours behind them, Mary comes to an uneasy realisation. John is afraid of Jim, deathly afraid and that doesn't seem right. Quiet now she lets go of his arm.

She watches as John strips off his own boots that, being military grade, had kept his feet mostly dry, unlike her, he just has to swap out socks. Mary finds herself worrying clues like a dog with a favourite bone and the way John had thrown up upon finding out Jim's name pops suddenly to mind. Mary feels certain that if it was just the same sense of distress she felt in Jim's company he'd never have done that, it must be something else.

It's clear he's not a coward either, or he would have let her wander off the trail that morning and taken off to save his own skin. There was something here, something nagging at her memories, which frankly made it stranger. After all, she'd never set eyes on John before this week.

Their footwear switched John puts both the packs on again and leads the way past another outcropping of stone and suddenly below them they can see the path up to the Diktaean caves. Hope surges in Mary's heart that John has lead her out of this safely, but her companion's expression is grim.

Off to their left, just below them, there is what can only be described as a hole in the mountainside. From their position it looks like a titan poked a finger into the side of the mountain wiggling it around shifting great bands of rock apart to rest diagonally against each other. The hole is deep and black with a glint of an, absurdly enough, safety rail along the bottom edge.

Stifling a gasp of awe Mary whispers, "The Diktaean Caves, I was looking forward to them."

John grunts his answer as he scours the countryside for evidence of their pursuers. Not seeing a thing he turns toward the caves, "The caves offer a few places we can hide. A couple of them we'll just be hiding on the path, but it might be necessary to go off the path as well. In that case I'll go first to find the safest spots."

Mary just follows silently as they draw towards the dark maw in the ground. There's a dampness to the place that even in the bright September sun makes her shiver. A shiver that becomes a full on shudder as they step into the dark cavern and the sun light is blocked out completely.

There's the sound of birds shuffling about off to the right of the entrance and a wide secure path downward with metal railings. The cavern is lit only by the sunlight from the opening and the stalactite and stalagmites all around are sparsely illuminated. Hanging down overhead is a curtain of green vegetation, a testimonial to the richness of the soil on the lasithi plateau, growing in a narrow band of earth that has collected between the layers of rock propped against one another. It's vibrant green giving way to paler likens covering the rock formations all around.

Mary's eyes widen comically and John has to stifle inappropriate laughter as he motions for her to be quiet. Going to speak he turns his body away from the crevasse, so that their voices can't carry and echo, "Normally the place is lit with flood lamps of all colours to emphasise the beauty of the rocks, but the tourist season is over so it's off most of the time. I'll not turn it on sorry. If we live through today I'll turn it on for you." Mary nods solemnly while her eyes roam the whole of what her eyes can distinguish in the gloom.

Everywhere her eyes land there are stalactites and stalagmites growing out of the rock bed. In some places they have grown up to meet the corresponding growth from the ceiling with that beautiful manner of melted wax candles, the steady dripping sound giving away how they appeared and how long it took to do so. Mary shudders at the implication of that, how little and small their lives and worries are compared to the eternal remodelling of the Earth's surface.

John quietly lets her stare as he works to get his eyes adjusted as quickly as possible and scans around to pick their hideout. Thinking the best path is the one to the right John urges Mary forward with a whispered, "Walk toe-heel to reduce the noise of your steps." Then he leads her down the cement walkway, to the left branching of the trail, to get down to the lowest point of the grotto, the lake. As they almost silently progress along John hears voices, or rather one voice on a mobile, a voice John'd rather not have heard ever, ever again.

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James Moriarty looked at the simpering Greek man beside him, 'So very ordinary, thank god for the distraction of John Watson!' subtly palming himself at the thought of having the ex-army doctor in his grasp again he tunes out the man's useless prattle. His mobile ringing tone of the Bee Gees 'To Love Somebody's melodic chorus breaks into the silence of the car.

"Yes Robert? Are you praying yet or not?" He listens to the quivering voice on the other side of the device, "Boss, they ditched their normal route down the mountain."

Drumming his fingers agrivatedly on the door panel of the car, "You better be up to a couple 'hail Mary's, cause that sweetheart, is oh-hoe-h-old news!" Rob's nervous swallow, auditory even through the mobile's tiny speaker, makes it clear Jim's sing-song speech patterns are making his henchman's skin crawl. With a smirk he waits the thicky Rob out.

"Well I mean, I... f..found their alternate trail Boss."

Fierce glee floods his mind, 'I have him!' "Congratulations, you may not need the intervention of divine power yet? Where does it go?"

The voice looses even more of it's self assurance, "Well Boss, he hid his tracks and went into the water to loose me, but his trajectory leads to the Diktaean caves."

Anger bright and harsh floods Jim's reality with one driving need, he must hurt this man that has failed him. "So your saying you haven't a fucking clue where they are, or what they are up to, but your too much of a tosser to even admit that!? Move in on the caves and keep a sharp eye out."

Switching off and throwing the mobile onto the seat beside him he grins morbidly at the man beside him, "Find me a quick way up the mountain, I don't care how." the Grecian man looks blankly at him for a couple seconds, "Well there are donkeys that will go up the trail...?" His posture and tone clearly expressing his worry over infamous 'Moriarty's reaction to the suggestion. He does not disappoint.

After they get back in the car and the driver has wiped his hands off the battered man beside Jim pulls out his own mobile with a shaking hand and calls ahead. Jim's cold reptilian gaze on him as he talks swiftly to someone on the other end.

"Would a fine bred horse be a better solution for sir?" is breathlessly intoned whilst he holds a hand over the speaker on his mobile. At a slight lessening of the grim expression the poor bludgeoned man goes back to arranging it over the phone.

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The ride up the wide paved path was pleasant enough, even if the estimation of a 'well bred' horse was a bit of a stretch. Jim smiles to himself at the memory of the animal struggling to get up the incline, it's sides heaving by the time they arrived, but it wasn't winded so he assumes he can ride it back down, or lead it down with a cursing, writhing, John Watson tied to the saddle.

Again he has to stave back the rise of a sinister sexual tide in himself as he surveys the area around him. Then the stillness is shattered by the Bee Gees again, "What?!"

"I've found where they came out of the water Boss, I have tracks!"

"Well now that's good news, how far behind them do you think you are?" his irritation at the slow 'ordinary' man's brain coming out in his impatient tone of voice.

"Not certain the tracks disappear around the edge of a rock face in front of me, possibly twenty minutes to get to it, then I don't know what's beyond it, or how much back tracking the trail does."

Glee suffusing him Jim grips the phone as he walks into the shaded maw of the cave, "Fine, be quick about it and I mean run you thick witted pleb! I'm going to look in the cave, find a place to strike at John from. You drive him to me, understood?"

"Yes Boss... But..." Rob's voice is heavy in trepidation as he finally looses the nerve to question Moriarty.

"Yes, yes, I know that silly girl was your target, but you've moved up in the world. I don't care about her, or Randal's obsession with marrying a girl he's been perving over since she was a teen!" With that he disconnects the call and shoves the phone in a pocket. With an irritated hiss at the smudges of dirt on his clothes Jim spares a glare for the dusty horse and heads further into the depths of the cave.

In the jet on the way here Jim had looked up the cavern and found the most likely spots to ambush John. He knew he'd have to go off the trail, with a sigh Jim realises he might even have to get wet. But capturing John would make ruining a 'Westwood' suit worth it so he quickly moves to secrete himself and lie in wait.

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John has a hand lightly on Mary's face, just a finger resting on her lips reminding her not to move, or even breathe too loudly. Once he had heard Moriarty on his mobile John realised the plan, he wanted to drive them both into a trap in the cave. Well, this time Jon intended to be the spider in the trap waiting for his prey, to beat Jim to it.

He waits motionless as Jim draws closer and closer to him. Stifling even his breathing, John watches as the man he hates the most in the world passes within inches of him without noticing. His blood running hot with anger he levers himself off the base of the formation known as the Mantle of Zeus. Using his legs to power the move John aims himself at the middle of Jim's back. He is delighted to knock a shocked, "Urk!" out of his target, though that seems to be where the shock ends as Jim revolves under the momentum to the ground growling and hissing like a wild thing. His patented gleeful rictus and dead eyed expression on his face, "Oh John, I have been waiting simply ye-a-rs to get you under me again." His lilting cold voice pouring into John like a poison, "Course your over me right now, I can use this to my advantage I'm sure." followed up by bucking his engorged groin up into John.

His hands breaking out in a cold sweat, John can feel the memories of his violation rushing up to drown him and pull him under, when Moriarty make a fatal mistake.

"It's much like how I had your dear sister, though she was tied in position and she didn't talk much at the end." His smile turning John's stomach, "Have to give it to you Watsons, her last words were telling you to flee, run, run as far as you could! Even the last gurgles sounded like your name, what do you want to bet your last words are? Do you want to bet? Will they be about him? Will you say something pathetic that he wouldn't even dane to acknowledge?" His tone becoming syrupy sweet and fake, "Will you say you love him?"

John feels a white hot rage uncoiling in his chest. His hands become hard as iron as even as his vision whites out there's a part of his mind that's chanting, "He can't talk about Sherlock that way, he can't!" It's a voice that sounds suspiciously like Harry.

What seems like endless moments later Mary's voice is whispering urgently in his ear, "John, you have to let go and come with me now, John!" He has a vague memory of her saying that a couple times already and with that thought he snaps out of it and looks down at his hands.

James Moriarty stares back at him, his visage forever altered by the slightly bulging eyes and the petechial haemorrhaging, as well the puddle of blood flowing down the pathway toward John's jeans, bits of brain tissue along for the ride.

Slowly managing to unlock his grip around the neck John realises his arms ache, 'I strangled and bashed his head in... I wonder which killed him?' Looking to Mary with horror on his face she's shaking her head at him. "It's over John, he can't hurt you again, never again."

Calm slowly descends upon John. From Mary's point of view it's like the drops of mineral laden water in this cave, slowly changing everything. After a moment or two kneading there with his hands, still in a strangulation position just in midair, hanging there John comes back to himself.

"Well. There. Sorted. Now we need to get off this..." His voice is cut off by the Bee Gees ringing from inside the crumpled coat pocked of the corpse of James Moriarty. Forehead wrinkling in confusion he none the less reaches in, picks it up and looks.

14/09/ 15:37  
Rob: I'm just about in the cavern, have you seen them? Shall I wait somewhere in particular?

John cradles the phone in his hand staring at the display, "Fuck."


	5. Blind As He Can Be

First of all, I am very, very sorry I left you hanging for more than my usual week, but I was worried about staying true to this AU's BAMF John. Then I realised I had almost a thousand words before it got dicy, so here it is. Just a short chapter to keep you going ;)

PS-So not mine!

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Rob is hovering about having sent his text feeling uneasy, James Moriarty isn't the nicest man to work for, but the pay he got, for being a tracker/sniper, was top shelf and he enjoyed the work. Some of the guys back at the base, well the base he had access to, we're weirded out by his methods, but the Boss seemed to like the personal touches he used. 'Huh, and my mum said being a stalker wouldn't teach me any worthy skills! How wrong she was.'

In his hand the mobile vibrates and he looks down.

14/09/13 15:38Jim: Pray harder, take the left branch of the path down to the lake.

Stuffing the mobile deep in his pocket he hitches his gun up on his shoulder a bit more comfortably pops the catches on his holsters and trots down the path into the cave.

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After scrolling back in the conversation history between Jim and Rob John breathlessly punches out the message and pockets the phone. Mary has slipped back off the track and seems to be peeling something off the wall.

In a guarded whisper, "What are you doing?"

Mary wipes her forehead with the back of her wrist, "He's coming down here isn't he? Well we have to hide that puddle of blood somehow. And you better move it if your going to shift the body, or are you leaving it there?"

With a sharp nod John hefts the body off the trail and hides it around the back of the rock formation he had hidden behind himself. Without a second thought for the remains of James Moriarty he goes and helps Mary stripping off the liken to cover the blood pool.

After laying John's campaign blanket down on the blood they scatter the liken about distorting the fact that it is a blanket. "I hadn't thought of the blanket," Mary comments as they secure themselves away again, "but the effect is quite good. Even knowing it's there my eyes slide past it."

John smiles and nods, but then puts a finger to his lips as the crunch of footsteps at the mouth of the cavern reaches them.

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Rob tries to see into the gloom with little success, the sun has moved behind the mountain and soon the cave will be black as pitch. An uneasy fluttering in his belly is shoved aside as excitement on the job. But far in the depths of his mind Rob wonders if Jim shouldn't already be screaming his brand of madness at him, as a result his steps shift from hesitant to urgent and back again. Just as he gets to the fork his mobile buzzes in his pocket.

14/09/13 13:40Jim: Caution idiot, they are on the right fork.

Nodding, Rob's frame, that had been slowly stiffening up from uncertainty, is suddenly loose as he becomes a moving shadow eating up the path.

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John watches the hired gun walk slowly towards them, his eyes on the military grade AX338 sniper rifle on the man's shoulder. In the dimness John can also see a holster on his inner left thigh, low down on his right and another on the crest of his left hip. 'Two blades and a back-up hand gun...' Thinking his plan through carefully John gathers his willpower and waits for Rob to walk by. Once he is almost past them John makes his attack.

Aiming for the middle of the man's back John utilises the off centre angle of attack to drive the man to the ground with a startled vocalisation. Using surprise to his advantage John grabs up the strapping for his scope and the hair at the back of his neck, leaning all his weight forward as he pulls his legs up to pin Rob's arms to his body with his knees. Resting comfortably in Rob's lower back he searches for weapons with his free right hand.

"You can come out now Mary and pick up the rifle." the body under him pitches and rolls, but John sits it easily as he switches hands and clenches his fingers even tighter into Rob's hair. "Now Rob behave, especially as" John reaches back and pulls a long deadly knife from the left hip holster, "I've got your Bowie knife."

Carefully leaning forward again, John tests the tip of the knife on the short hairs at the nape of Rob's neck. "Well you certainly keep the edge keen, don't you now?" Rob stops moving completely, he knows one wrong twitch and the blade will sink into his flesh. Spine or jugular hardly matters the blade is sharp enough to slip him through to death in a blink.

Mary pauses over the rifle, "Is it safe to pick up?"

John laughs humourlessly, "Oh I should think Rob here is a professional, since Jim didn't deal with amateurs. That said, there isn't a round in the chamber is there Rob?" applying pressure upwards forcing the man's cheek into the rough paved path, his chin being forced down into his chest harshly as John roughly shakes the hand embedded in Rob's hair. A high pitched whine escapes the man, "No, no, the rounds are in my shirt pocket."

John, who's free hand was pulling Rob's Glock 19 out of it's holster, reverses his grip on it and releases Rob's hair, quite a few dark strands sticking between his fingers, "Bet your wishing you had kept your regulation haircut, huh Rob?" With that he strikes him sharply on the back of the head knocking him out.


	6. Can You See Me At All?

Mary's hand shakes ever so slightly as she brings the cup of fragrant malotira tea up to her mouth. In the back of her mind there is a voice, driven high and screechy by urgency, that is repeatedly at her about the events of the day, 'For fuck sake, he killed that man right in front of you, now he's got a prisoner? Who is this man, do you even really know who he is?!'

Closing her eyes she takes a big gulp of scalding tea to force her mind onto a different track, 'He didn't have to help me, he could have just taken me back down the mountain and let this crazy bloke shoot me. No, at great risk to himself and blowing his cover completely, John helped me.' in her minds eye the last few moments of John's struggle with Jim play out in her mind again and her stomach squirms uncomfortably at the sibilant hiss, spewing out horrible words, trying to shake John's confidence and thus his hold.

With a gasp of realisation, Mary slots it all together and she feels terrible it took this long for her to figure it out. That horrible feeling she got while John was explaining why he's on the lamb, that nudged her memory, is back. True one could argue it was a reaction to the traumatic events of the day, but she knows it is not. She's used to applying it to younger people, after all she was a primary school teacher, but that doesn't change the reality. John, then, and in the last moments of Jim's life, was displaying all the symptoms of a sexual assault victim.

She recalls her own words to John, 'He can't hurt you anymore.' At the time she had meant that Jim couldn't keep him and Sherlock apart anymore, but now that squirming sensation in her stomach morphs into a cold ache as she realises it meant so much more to John. As John was most likely raped by Jim, or someone who worked for him, during the torture he endured, for falling in love with Sherlock, the comment was validation of John finally escaping the source of his abuse.

Unbidden tears come to her eyes as she looks over to the man in question, talking in Greek, low, quick and quietly to Petros. The kindly older man who owns the taverna the walks are run out of. Wiping her eyes again she gets a firm grasp on herself and pours another cup of the beautifully refreshing tea. She forces her internal voice silent, Mary knows she is safe with them, maybe she can even help John somehow digest what has happened to him.

That decided she pours two more cups and then excuses herself to see if there is anything left in the kitchen to eat, John has to eat.

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John shakes his head at Petros, he just wasn't getting it, "It doesn't matter who you know Petros, if anyone finds out you helped us, you and yours are dead. I cannot, will not, repay your brother's memory that way."

Petros laughs curtly, "Seriously John, you should know by now you cannot change my mind. I didn't listen last year when you wanted to run off and I'll not start now." Looking him searchingly in his eyes Petros continues, "There is a friend of mine who is knowledgeable about these things. He will take you and I won't know where. I will have no more difficulty than if you left last week. Understood?"

Hanging his head, John thinks over the last hours. How he stripped the suit jacket off the corpse - 'don't think about Jim, he's dead!' - and cut it to ribbons, blindfolding, gagging and binding his prisoner at the ankles, knees, hands (straight jacket style-arms crossed over his midsection, wrists bound with a strip connecting them behind his back), and even another strip holding his upper arms down. How he riffled the corpse for his personal items, pocketing them and then shoving the body deeper into a crevasse.

Then he slung the prisoner over his shoulder and he and Mary walked down the wide path to the taverna and Petros' advice. Seeing not a soul on the way in the late September heat of mid afternoon. Shaking his head wryly John knows when he's beaten, "Very well Petros, get your friend, I will go see what Rob can tell us."

Petros nods and turns away, mobile already out, to call his friend. John notes Mary has disappeared as he slips into the room next door. Pausing just inside the door he waits a moment after closing it for his eyes to adjust. Rob glares up at him full of hate and John chuckles, "Yeah, I know you really don't like me right now. Now I'm going to take off this gag, but I want you to know there is no one in Psychro that will come to your aid, so don't bother screaming."

After a curt nod from his prisoner, with quick economic movements he tugs the rag loose, Rob coughs a bit then, "You know he's going to kill you when he finds us, and he will find us, that I guarantee."

John leans back away from the tightly bound man, reaches up on the wall and punches the switch for the light, brightness floods the room as John crowds the blinking man. "Do you see this?" gesturing at the dark spatters on his face, "I'm sure as an experienced wet works guy you would know blood spatter when you see it. And the shredded material your tied up in?" John grabs at an exposed label and yanks it free, dangling it in front of Rob's face. "He did love his Westwood, didn't he?"

Instead of being shocked, or frustrated his boss is dead, Rob starts laughing, "You idiot! Now your arse-bandit, gayboy is going to die and you can't do a thing about it." John, just barely keeping his expression clear tugs the gag back into place and leaves the room flicking the light off as he goes.

In the other room Mary is fussing over a tray of food nervously and turns a worried stare to John as he exits the prisoner's room. With a commanding bearing she starts in on John, "I don't care how traumatised you are, your sitting down now and eating. Neither of us have eaten since we broke camp at 600hr, that's over nine hours ago. Sit!"

Smiling bitter-sweetly at how much Mary's whole delivery sounds exactly like it came out of one of John's tirades at Sherlock, begging him to eat during cases, John sits and starts eating. After a moment or two she sits as well, looking at him oddly out of the corner of her eye. Clearly she expected more of a struggle.

"I always had to fight Sherlock to eat, I know how it is to be in your spot, so I'll not put another person through it." They eat quietly for a few moments, then Mary musters the courage to talk, "So what are our plans now, has Petros called the police?"

John stops moving for a moment, then bolts his cup of wine, pours another and bolts it too. Turning to look at Mary he gathers himself, "Mary, I don't think you have enough experience with this type of situation... At this point we cannot contact the authorities about the body, because they will detain us for questioning. Which we cannot wait for, because if we do, Jim's people will find out he's gone and kill Sherlock. I can't let that happen, you understand, I can't!"

Mary nods a growing look of understanding on her face. "So what are we going to do John?" she smiles, just a bit, trying to will the both of them into better spirits. John returns the smile, though his is coloured with melancholy.

"A 'friend' of Petros' acquaintance is going to come and pick-up the three of us and move us to an unknown location. So that, worse case scenario, if someone comes looking for me, or Jim and Petros can't tell them anything, they might let them live." He ignores the stifled sound of shock coming from Mary and continues doggedly "We probably won't have much time to figure out what our next step is going to be and how to take it."

Reaching across the table John grabs up a dusty little bottle of raki and after rinsing out his cup with a swig of water, pours a good amount in. Motions for Mary to do the same, and similarly sets her up, then he sits back, turns towards her and gauges her reactions as he broaches the next topic.

"We don't have the luxury of time, nor can we leave an enemy behind us to contact Moran and give away our plans. To do so would endanger our lives as well as Sherlock's." that said, John downs the strong colourless spirit.

Mary, holding her drink in her hand while staring at John, "What you are telling me is, that man in there is going to have to be killed? After, I don't know, you and this acquaintance of Petros get as much out of him as possible? In cold blood?"

"It might be a necessity, yes. I must get information on who is watching Sherlock in London. Now it is possible that, now the head of the dragon is off he might not hold to his silence as before, with the threat of Moriarty hanging over him." John sighs and rubs his hand over his right cheek where he knows the pattern of blood spatter is. "I don't take this lightly Mary, but if he gets a chance he will kill us, and I don't want that to happen."

Mary, having drunk her raki, is nodding along with John, "I'm sure you will try your hardest to do what's right John, you are a good man." Looking down at her empty plate she silently musters the courage to speak, "I want you to know, that horrible things happening to you, isn't a reflection of you as a person, right?" Nervously she fiddles with her fork, not wanting to meet John's eyes, "Moriarty, so it would seem, was everything my gut instinct said he was and more. But you have survived him John, now all you have to do is get home to your Sherlock safely."

Having said her piece Mary braves looking at John, who is looking pale and drawn, similar to how he looked, when he withdrew, after killing Moriarty, "How?"

Her heart breaking a bit at the hopeless, desperate sound of his voice, she risks gently laying a hand on his forearm, ignoring the flinch. "I'm a school teacher, I'm trained to see the signs of that kind of abuse. Admittedly I didn't get it right away, mostly because my training is concerned with children and they do have different tells, but it was clear this afternoon."

John growls low in his throat, his face flushing suddenly in shame, "He did have to talk didn't he, how I hate him...hated him."

Suddenly unsure of what she should be doing Mary stands and clears away the dishes and food to give John some time alone. Moments after she leaves there is a knock at the door and Petros appears seconds later with a man of a hight with John, but with markedly Italian features, dark eyes and a curly mop of hair. While John's back takes up a larger proportion of his hight, with the stranger it's all legs. Topped off with a dimpled grin that's up to no good. If he had to guess, John would say the guy is the same age as Sherlock, but there is something about his eyes that belies that.

The wattage of his grin going up as Mary steps back in the room, he none the less steps over and clasps hands with John, shaking heartily. "You must be Ioannes, lovely to meet you after all this time, and the lady who came to climb the mountain. Prego, let us get going! Where we are going is still in the light, but the shadows of the mountains from this side of the plateau will get there in three quarters an hour."

Nodding John goes to collect Rob while Mary collects together their kit. Petros levels a warning look at his friend, then, "I'll just make sure Ioannes didn't forget anything in his room." and he rushes off.

Mary tries smiling at the stranger, uneasy now that she's dabbling in the world of unreported killings in self defence, and frankly if this acquaintance of Petros' is going to help them with that, who's to say he isn't the Italian Moriarty.

"You may call me Julio, if you like, miss." Jumping fairly out of her skin at 'Julio' appearing at her elbow in the scant second she was turned away, Mary stammers a response, "I'm terribly sorry..." but looses the thread as she looks into deep smiling eyes that make her feel like she's being swallowed whole. Flushing she pulls a bit away, at which Julio pouts exaggeratedly at her.

"My darling, Julio will make sure you never come to harm. That I can guarantee you, my sweet." Rakishly he gathers up her hand and slowly, gently presses a kiss into the palm. Mary sputters as the soft press of lips on her flesh incites fire in her body.

Then suddenly the room is filled with people and Julio is instructing John on where to put Robert in the vehicle and they all pile in, waving goodbye to Petros. Mary presses a kiss to the large Grecian man's face and whispers, "I hope I didn't bring you harm, and I'm very sorry if I did." Petros just smiles and pats her cheek, then turns and walks back into the house to lie down for at least the remaining hour of the days siesta time.

The four people in the elderly truck careen down the rest of the mountain to cross the plateau. Mary wonders what will happen when they get there.

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Goodness! I thought this would be the tricky chapter, but that's coming up next! Stay tuned in!

Malotira is a herbal tea originating on Crete, it is often called Mountain tea, and it is one of my fondest memories of visiting the island. If I could have, I'd have taken home one of the huge bundles of the herb they sell in the open markets on the island. But sadly it isn't allowed through customs!

Psychro is the name of the village where Petros' taverna is. The people of this village have always tended the alters within the Cradle of Zeus' cave.

'Wet works' is the term for the job assassins and torturers do. Generally anything involving the spilling of another person's blood is 'wet work'. However it does not apply to things like bombs or military action, it's more of a personal, one person contract kind of thing.

Arse-bandit and gayboy. I apologise if anyone is offended by these, but, frankly, I don't think Rob would say anything else. He's a rough, nasty, ex-military snipper who likes to 'play' with his kills. He is NOT a nice man and therefor has yucky language. So I say 'sorry', he says 'shove it up your arse!' ;)

Moran. Up until now there has been no mention of Cnl Sebastian Moran, but look for some exciting explanations to Mary when they get on the road after next chapter to explain it. Yes, John knows who he is, yes he's seen him since leaving London, you'll have to wait to find out more.

Raki is a lovely spirit that the Cretans have been making for ever! It is similar in origins to Italian Grappa, (ie steeped in the 'must, left over from the wine making proccess) but (for me at least) much more palatable. Some would argue I've not had good Grappa, but I think I just have a soft spot (sweet memories) for Raki!

Prego is Italian for 'please' as well as a few short phrases like 'don't mention it', or 'after you'. In this case I'm using a lot the former meaning and a little the latter!


	7. Take Your Time, Don't Worry

At the end of their journey across the plateau everyone was aching down to their bones! The road had been rough and inhospitable, not to mention the vehicle! Julio turned to Mary, who was riding in the cab with him, "I am terribly sorry for this beast of a machine dear lady, but it is old enough to not be unusual should it be found. There are literally dozens of them standing about in fields, rusted in place, that one more by morning will not be commented on."

Mary nods dumbly as she watches the ground hurtle by through gaping holes in the floorboards under her feet. Shifting restlessly, trying to find a spot on the bench where her tailbone isn't going to get fractured next time they hit a washout on the road, she watches in horror as another bit of the wagon falls away, revealing more road.

"Are you sure it will last till we get... well wherever it is we're going?"

The very pretty, 'Seriously brain, stay on task!' Italian man smiles at her, dimpled and dripping charm, "Oh it'll get there, no worries about that my dear." Looking over his shoulder quickly, but unwilling to look away from the treacherous track he was following in leu of a road, "Could you be a star and prego check on our companions?"

Twisting around on the bench, trying not to put her foot on the floor, Mary looks into the back. Sackcloth was loosely attached to the sides and end fences surrounding the open bed of the old Dodge. Robert was lying stretched out flat along the length of it and John was leaning up against the right side of the wagon, a wearily balancing his head off his forearm and knees.

Catching his eye she mouths, 'Alright?' to him and he nods back at her and looks again to the prisoner. Slowly and carefully Mary turns back around, placing her feet away from the hole - 'Oh god, another piece is missing!' - and reports.

"They seem fine, the bound man is bouncing around a bit, but my friend is watching him." Julio nods at this, but doesn't respond as he's now navigating a very tricky switchback that almost doesn't have enough room for the length of the vehicle. Mary finds this so spooky she is holding her breath, clutching the edge of the bench in terror until they have gotten around the bend.

Suddenly she can see where they are heading, some hundreds of yards away, above them, she can see nestled in the crook of two of the mountains surrounding the plateau, a broken down Venetian stone windmill. Behind it the stark, clear, dark-blue sky of approaching evening making the natural yellow of the stones used in the mill stand out sharply. Broken off propellers hang dejectedly with scraps of ropes blowing back and forth in the gentle wind. The entire time they make the final accent Mary stares stupefied at the view in front of her, whilst Julio chuckles beside her.

'At least I'll have the view to distract me while they are busy.' she finds herself thinking sarcastically as Julio pulls around to the back of the structure, blocking the view of the wagon from the track or, frankly, anywhere on that side of the mountain.

Sliding slowly to the door she hops off the bench onto the ground clenching her jaw at the jolt of pain that runs up through her body on impact. Going round to the back she helps Julio untie the cloth and removing the gate. John slips off the vehicle and then reaches back to pull Rob closer to them. Mary notes the alarming hue to his skin, "John, I think he'll sick up if we move him now."

"Probably better that way, my dear." Julio smoothly interjects, "That way he'll get the horrible motion sickness out!"

Flickering a look over to John, who's looking consideringly at their 'saviour', Mary realises that John doesn't think the Italian is saying what he means. Shrugging in a 'well go ahead then' manner she turns and walks over to investigate the inside of the stone building.

John swings Rob's legs down to the ground and briskly helps him stand upright. Watching closely for any signs of illness, John is ready when the poor man flushes and then goes a startling pasty white, and crumples to his knees (which John assists so he doesn't fall on his face) retching his guts out in the sparse grass.

Noting his eyes rolling wildly, John thinks to himself, 'Just how much of a 'tommy' is this kid? He's in his early thirties...' Clearing his throat he tries to reassure him, "Your sicking up because you were lying flat in a vehicle. The combination of having your stomach above your head an awful lot, and the vibration confuses your brain as to what is going on. It receives the information from the proprioception receptors and they say you are moving, but also lying still. So when you do move the motion sickness rears up and you retch."

Julio snorts, "Spoken like a doctorly sort, we could have used him a bit anxious my friend."

John shakes his head and supports Rob from the side, "No, he's a clever, money minded sort, with... the body in the caves, he has no payday. Him being mindful of that and a bit thankful to me is more help than his mild panic over sicking up would be." Julio nods smiling, and John gets the feeling he was being tested.

Suppressing irritation at being treated like a 'tommy' himself, John starts moving toward the busted-in doorway in the old mill helping Rob along.

Though the building looks half fallen down around it, the door is solid on it's hinges and doesn't even give a whisper of a squeak when it opens. Inside John sees Mary gaping at the room which features a bed, a small fridge and a radio set-up on a rickety desk. Brusquely Julio shoulders past them and crosses to the desk producing, from a drawer, an old pair of hand cuffs... well almost old manacles really.

Motioning John to follow he crosses over to the foot of the bed and attaches one end of the manacles to the frame of the bed and once Rob is close enough, the other end to his ankle.

Mary takes this as her queue to leave and strides back out the door to watch the long slow sunset from their position, shaded from the ebbing sunlight by the neighbouring she finds a rock, still warm from the mid-day heat and settles down for a long wait in the balmy late Grecian afternoon.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once Rob is connected to the bed John cuts the bonds save the ones attaching Rob's hands. Then John moves away from him drinking some water out of the metal flask he carries with him. Rob wordlessly sits on the edge of the bed with a smirk dancing over his lips. Julio beckons John to the doorway and through it to be out of the range of Rob, "You seem to be confined by oaths friend." Julio starts, "I was given to understand people's lives depend on what you learn from this man."

John regards him with suspicion and nods once stubbornly, "Yes on both accounts, perhaps we should just stick to the third Geneva Convention?"

Julio looks at John for a long time, seemingly measuring his intention of sticking to his word. Seeing the rigid military baring and grim, determined expression, Julio claps him on the shoulder. "Good, excellent! You are very adept at talking around things friend. If this little mission of yours should go badly, come back here. There is definitely a place for you in my circle of friends."

John stares at the man, slack-jawed over his offer, then he gathers himself, "A friend of the family couldn't talk 'straight on', if you catch my meaning, if his life depended on it! Honestly if it did, I think he'd rather die than express an actual need for help!"

Chuckling Julio smiles, "I have known a few persons like that, yes. But how are we going to get the information out of Robert then?" John pulls Moriarty's mobile out of his pocket and looks at the thing for a minute. "I think if I could get this open, I'd find something to use against him, but it's password locked."

"Do you have any clues?" Julio asks looking at the sleek device in John's hand. "Well a few years ago, my partner wrote up something about hacking on a blog, and I'm not unpracticed in hacking. It's the only way I've stayed alive for so long, ahead of Moriarty and his thugs." John turns the phone over in his hand again, "But for now I'll have to act like that friend of mine, who can't talk straight, and see what I can get out of him with vague suggestions."

Julio looks around for Mary nodding, "Right, sound plan. Now if we are being such law abiding men, surely she can come in? I really would rather no one be spotted up here."

John smiles, "Yes, of course, I'll find her."

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Mary is having a hard time relaxing and enjoying the scenery around her. The worry about what is possibly happening in the mill hanging around her neck like a millstone! The sick worry fluttering in her stomach stops as suddenly as John comes around the corner. Completely unbidden a dazzling smile comes upon her lips as she feels the relief at no longer being alone with her mind imagining up all sorts of horrible things.

John, for his part, is surprised at the effect her smile has on him and unconsciously returns the expression. "We had a little talk, Julio and I, and I made it clear we had to stick to the Geneva Conventions, so he thinks you should come inside. The idea of you staying out here was flawed in the first place, not only could you be seen, but often the imagining of dire acts is often far worse that what actually happens."

Standing up from her rock Mary smile, "Yes, your so right, I was just sitting here trying not to think about it and having a miserable time at it. Let's go see what this guy knows, then."

Smirking at the strength of character Mary seems to have, John wordlessly offers his arm and guides her back to the mill.

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Once inside John feels something is off. Julio is sitting on the edge of the desk drinking from a metal cup and grinning shark like at Robert; who is radiating fear from his seat on the bed, having pushed himself up against the wall of the mill, his arms straining to press him that bit further into it. Furious John drops Mary's arm and stalks over to Julio, "What the hell did you do?" he hisses.

Julio, not dropping the intimidating look, nor leaving off looking at Rob, laughs lowly. "Not a thing, I just told him about myself, and my favourite drink. I think it rather grossed him out, don't you? Even though he's a stone cold killer, there are things even he wouldn't do..."

Julio trails off and takes another slug from the cup. John watches him carefully as he swallows thickly, as though the contents of the cup are more viscous than usual. 'Right, Julio agreed to the Third Convention, couldn't be too bad. Must have told him some naff thing and spooked the guy, well I do think he's a bit of a 'tommy' might as well use it.'

He catches a subtle wink from Julio and nods barely. Turning away he offers Mary up the chair and pulls out the mobile. "It's funny how much information on can find out on one's employer's mobile, isn't it? Jim has a little file for you on here, bet he has one for each of his active snipers, what do you think it says, hey? What do you think my contacts would do with that information?"

Rob's grey face turns away from Julio and looses a bit more colour, "But, but, how did you get... it's password protected..."

John grins at him just as shark-like as Julio and plays his ace, "Really? It was a doddle, after all I did text you twice." As Rob's face flushes with anger and frustration John laughs humourlessly, "Oh how perfectly 'ordinary' of you, you hadn't even thought of that!"

Everyone can see the flinch at the stress on the word ordinary, but only John knows the inferiority complex Jim Moriarty probably inflicted, using 'ordinary' as a slur for those not as brilliant as the great mind of Jim. Or his own Sherlock for that matter. The man before him has been belittled and treated quite badly by his employer, John wonders for how long.

"Are you going to tell me what I want to know, or should I be calling the 'Ice Man'?"

Rob is almost beside himself at the mention of the 'Ice Man' and starts spitting stuff out. "Look, I don't care what you think I can tell you, cause there isn't anything I can tell you that will call off the attack dogs. Your little gayboy lover is dead as soon as Moran finds out you killed the boss."

"Okay Rob, why don't you tell me what will tip Moran off, surely Jim is often out of touch for a while." John is brought up short by a barking laugh out of the captive, "You have got to be fucking kidding! Ever since Moran came on the scene those two have been inseparable! But you wouldn't know that would you? Moriarty kept you two apart cause he was scared you'd recognise him and realise your decommission was 'arranged'."

John, careful to hide his shock, takes a step toward the prisoner, in a low angry voice, "What the bloody fuck are you talking about?"

Rob, now laughing like a hyena, chokes out between the laughter, "He knew your Sister was a bad one, set her up to fail with Clara. Sent all sorts of pretty tail her way, and then had Cornel Moran shoot you. All that done to draw you in, made Moran pretty jealous. Then there's the matter of your rape, Moran was livid Jim touched you, caused quite the row between them I guess. Hell I heard about it and I was in Belarus at the time!"

Thankfully Rob wasn't paying John any mind, he's so involved in his cackling Rob misses the pained look on John's face as he tries to ignore his darkest trauma being told to two more people.

Then inspiration strikes and John brings up the mobile to his face. Taking a deep breath he activates the device and types in 'jonnyluv'. The mobile comes instantly alive in his grasp. Gripping the mobile in his hand tightly he stares at Rob again. Brandishing the unlocked screen at the man, "Tell me how to keep Moran in the dark, or I text 'Ice Man' that I have you in custody."

Coughing harshly on spittle he swallowed in shock mid laugh Rob just stares at the mobile in horror.

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Right, apologies for this chapter taking me so long, I had problems dancing that line of 'stay the fuck away from MY Sherlock' and the hippocratic oath John has sworn as a doctor. Incidentally, that's the oath Julio refers to John having and not wanting to break!

I love BAMF John and wanted to have him beat the info out of smarmy Rob, but I couldn't. I just know John wouldn't accept the ends justifying the means as an excuse in himself. He'd let Sherlock get away with it, but not himself ;)

The Geneva Conventions are rules of humanitarian congress during warfare. Specifically the third refers to prisoners and the treatment of them. Wikipedia was my 'Geneva Conv. For Dummies' and here's a pertinent excerpt:

It describes minimal protections which must be adhered to by all individuals within a signatory's territory during an armed conflict not of an international character (regardless of citizenship or lack thereof): Noncombatants, combatants who have laid down their arms, and combatants who are hors de combat (out of the fight) due to wounds, detention, or any other cause shall in all circumstances be treated humanely, including prohibition of outrages upon personal dignity, in particular humiliating and degrading treatment.

Referring to someone as a 'tommy' is the British equivalent to being called a 'green' recruit.

The bit about motion sickness is true! Used to happen to me as a kid, I could read, sit backward, didn't matter I was fine. BUT if I fell asleep and lay down in the back of an estate car, I was doomed! I'd sick up as soon as we got home. I was quite confused the first time, as I didn't feel at all ill!

The vehicle they ride in is the 1948 Dodge Power Wagon, which is a very common sight on the island of Crete, as Julio says there are literally dozens of them lying about rotting.

Special thanks to junejuly15, JJ without your gentle poking I'd have forgotten anyone was reading this story at all! Cheers!


	8. You Don't Know What You're Missing

To my guest 'Sue' thank you, it's nice to know people ARE wanting to read it.

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John lets him stare at the home screen of Jim Moriarty's mobile for a few more minutes, then, "Come on Rob, you don't want to get to know the 'Ice Man' personally do you? He's a whole different kind of mean when compared to Jim. Jim was just insane and did what whim came along, especially if it destroyed people's lives, but the 'Ice Man' does anything he deems necessary out of a sense of duty. I find it much more disturbing that, don't you agree?"

Rob's wide, panicked eyes dart from the mobile, to John, then to the Italian. Closing off visibly from them he sighs deeply, "He has to get a phone call or text every twelve hours, and the last one was when? You don't have a bloody chance mate. You'll have to lie, convincingly, directly to his second in command, or else he shoots to kill your boy-toy. "

John flicks quickly through the message history, the last text Jim sent out, other than the ones to Rob and before John jumped him, was a few hours before noon. Selecting the screen name 'mormor' John finds an extremely personal message:

14/09/12 09:04

Jim: Soon I will be done with this and you can stop being so predictably jealous! Everything I have done has been to make him suffer, you have to know that, I couldn't feel anything for him, he's just a tool.

14/09/12 09:05

mormor: Just you remember that. I expect an update soon.

Shuddering at the cold conversation over himself he scrolls through the personal files for this 'mormor' person. John quickly discovers several pictures of a young man who looks an awful lot like Sherlock. Though his expression is less exotic all the 'elements' of Sherlock's face are there, baring the eye colour and riotous curls. Flipping through the images in the file John feels his memories churn and swell. He knows this man. Suddenly he comes to the last image and a sharp stabbing pain in his chest takes his breath away.

Even he has to look closely at the man dressed in an exquisitely tailored suit to see that the curls are too perfect, 'curled artificially,' and the eyes are a ghostly grey-green, 'contacts, my god that's disturbing!' Turning back to Rob, "What is this picture all about?"

Rob smirks, "What that? Jim has been demolishing your fuck-toy's image. I think it's been high profile kidnappings mostly. Got him arrested last time, I think. The little girl screamed her head off when he asked to talk to her. Got that foxy Sargent under DI Lestrade all worked up, I think the Commissioner hauled him in for that. They think your boy's some sick child molester now, given the girl's response..."

Rob's rapid-fire spill of vitriol is halted with the sharp crack of John's fist against his nose. Walking away shaking his hand John tries to blink back the red film of rage that has overcome him.

Julio calmly wanders over and checks the nose, Rob whines noisily and fusses till Julio places his hands gently around his neck and depresses the carotid artery on both sides of his neck. Before Rob can even get his hands around Julio's wrists he's passed out.

Mary interjects sharply, "Julio, what have you done?!"

This pulls John back from his struggle as his doctor persona takes front and centre. Moving back to Rob's slumped form, still shaking his hand out, John looks him over carefully. Julio is setting the crooked nose and wiping the blood away with a cloth. "Don't worry about him for now my friend, I'm shocked it took you this long before you belted him in the face."

John hrm's his reply, accepting Julio's explanation as he checks to see fault in it. "You knocked him out so you could check his nose?" Not waiting for a response John continues, "Good choice, I really did a job on it. How did you knock him out so fast?"

Julio lays his hands where he had applied pressure, the outer edge of the thumbs lying directly along the carotid artery, "If you apply pressure here for a few seconds..."

"You fool the body into fainting all on it's own. Clever, I've only ever seen that done from behind as the 'sleeper hold', very interesting." Rob begins to moan and shift about, "Right, I'm going to take this mobile and go sit in the wagon. I don't think I can handle his filth much longer, well, not without chinning him again!" Captain Watson turns sharply, his military persona at the fore now, and marches himself away from the man he wants to abandon the Geneva Conventions for and 'do him in' for telling John about Jim's horrible plots. Anger at not being there to protect Sherlock driving him to the flatbed of the old Dodge wagon.

Scrolling restlessly back through the conversation snippets between the men John comes to two conclusions. One he has a little over a quarter of an hour to decide what 'Jim' is going to say to this sniper and two, that while most people know this 'mormor' is Jim's favourite and second in command, most don't know they are having sex.

John shivers, his mind conjuring up Jim's voice reading the texts to him, as he tries to get an idea of what to send. Eventually he decides on being as vague as possible:

14/09/12 20:57

Jim: The plebs here are so ordinary it's killing me. Still trying to catch my property, check his military files again. I want all intel sent to my phone last week.

14/09/12 20:58

mormor: I thought you had all that on your phone, was my contact at the airport not satisfactory?

John takes a deep breath, looking up to see Mary walking over to him. "Wasn't there a horse at the caves when we came out with Rob?" Blinking in surprise for a second Mary stops short, "You know what, I'm pretty sure there was a horse just standing there."

Fumbling his own mobile out of his pocket, "Shit!" Quickly he texts Petros:

14/09/12 20:59

Ioannes: There's a horse at the top of the trail, I completely forgot.

Then back to the other conversation:

14/09/12 21:00

Jim: If you call that NAG they sorted out as conveyance to the cave helpful, yes. During which time Jonny slipped by us. Currently following while teaching Robby boy about his errors. Send the files, something happened when I sunk the mobile last time, stupid standard EU power not being standard, and the file is corrupted.

14/09/12 21:01

mormor: Yes, of course Jim. It is true the Greeks are... difficult to motivate from afar. Do I need to send someone?

John stares at the message his blood gone cold for quite a few minutes till his own mobile's alert goes off.

14/09/12 21:03

Petros: Ioannes, your memory fails you, that was the horse your lady climber rode down. I have returned it to it's owner. He is very embarrassed that he allowed the mare to be loaned out. I doubt he'll mention it again.

Grinding his teeth over Petros taking such risks John looks back at Jim's mobile inspiration striking quickly:

14/09/12 21:04

Jim: Don't presume. I'm more than capable of motivating people, just have to know who to kill. Thankfully Robby boy is still capable of pulling a trigger... for now. I'll be in touch.

14/09/12 21:05

mormor: Sorry the sentiment escaped.

Slumping back against the edge of the wagon, John takes a deep breath and smiles at Mary. "I think he believed me, thank god."

14/09/12 21:06

Jim: Keep an eye on that, your not normally so ordinary.

Slipping both the phones in his jacket John sighs again, "Okay, so we have twelve hours now before I have a new chance to screw up." one of the mobiles in his pocket, Jim's he assumes, buzzes as a file transfer is completed. "At least now I'll be able to see what all his organisation knows about me."

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John's brain is absolutely humming, not only does Moriarty's network have information that should be impossible to obtain, but half the time he advanced in the field it was Cornel Moran that put his name forward. 'Bloody hell Rob was right! Moriarty arranged my life and career to suit his needs. No wonder the psychopath was so angry with me. All those years of hard work and I fall in love with Sherlock a couple weeks in? Must have been enraging.'

Snorting disbelievingly at his turn of thoughts John puts all that aside and wonders how he can get back to London to protect Sherlock. It's clear, not only in the files, but his experience that they tracked him till he went totally off the grid in Germany. There's even people in Cypress looking for him so the connection to Crete might come up eventually. They need a few things, false documents for Mary, cash, and a way off the island. Looking up at the young woman who's been quietly watching the sunset, giving him time to think, John marvels at how steadfast she is.

'Truly, if my heart didn't already belong to Sherlock, I'd be completely taken in by her determination and heart.' John turns away shaking his head at his own thoughts, 'Well, best see what we can do to get off this island.'

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Okay, just quick notes on a couple things!

First off I have to again apologise for the bad behaviour of Rob, his use of the term 'boy-toy' and 'fuck-toy' are calculated to increase one John Hamish Watson's blood pressure. Not something I condone, nor advise, JHW has a notorious right hook ;)

Now I don't directly ship Mormor, but the idea of Moran avenging Jim seems like a beautifully perverse mirror to Johnlock to me and I cannot resist it. To that end I thought it funny to have Jim put 'mormor' as his contact title for Moran. Couldn't resist really.

The 'sleeper hold' to anyone who watches modern wrestling is something of old hat. But for those who don't know their WWF'S from their Ultimate Fighter's the 'sleeper hold' is a real method of rendering a foe unconscious quickly. Generally this is done from behind wrapping an arm across the throat making sure the point of your elbow is under the chin. This ensures you apply pressure to the blood flow, NOT the airflow, which is extremely dangerous. It is also true that it takes less than two seconds, because, as John mentioned, it fools the body into thinking your experiencing an episode of high blood pressure and so you faint. Why? Well the body tries to regulate the heart by slowing it and your breathing down, that makes you faint. Human body is neat huh?

This is in reference to John stalking off before doing Rob any harm. The term 'do someone in' refers to murdering the person in question. Definitely against the Geneva Conventions ;)

'Pleb' well there has been a LOT of news surrounding this term in the news here in the UK (ok last October, but still!) so I thought I'd explain a bit. The term plebs referred to the general body of free, land-owning Roman citizens of the Roman Empire. It was comprised of the non-aristocratic class of Rome and consisted of freed people, shopkeepers, crafts people, skilled or unskilled workers, and farmers. This being said, using this word to describe someone IS derogatory and elitist. Two things Jim does in his sleep!  
The reason why it's been in the news here, is former Chief Whip Andrew Mitchell (who resigned his position due to the rabid behaviour in the press visa vie his family) supposedly called a police officer at the main gate of Downing Street a pleb. Mitchell has always denied using that term, saying he DID curse (said 'I thought you people were supposed to fucking help us') and was sorry he lost his bottle. But refuses the 'pleb' comment that was supposedly supported by a public witness. In December it came out that the person who was listed as the witness was firstly another police officer and secondly not present at the time of comment. The inquisition is still ongoing.

The standard EU power not being standard comment John makes, as Jim, is in reference to the fact that in remote locations all over the EU the level of mains power isn't always the same. John is bluffing that the device was harmed by the fluctuation during charging/sinking.

That's it for this chapter, be back soon-ish, power0girl


	9. Leave It All

John looks out over the beautiful dark blue water, wishing he could be enjoying the view. But he's far too stressed, and from the looks of it even Mary is having trouble ignoring their plight in leu of the broad expanse of twinkling night sky and the shimmery inky waters.

He thinks over the last four hours and wonders in vain if he made the right choices. The Italian was ready to help, if they continued their anonymity, with what ever they needed.

They needed cash so Julio took Mary's cards, in a sealed envelope and will have someone else withdraw the money and max out the cards. It IS fraud so the companies will (when and if Mary gets her life back) pay the missing funds essentially giving her the money twice. This person will let Julio know how much the sum is and he will give it them through an associate once they land in Italy.

His best mate has a fishers boat and he isn't overly bothered about them going out to sea in the middle of the night. So they hide away during the day and putter along at night. At a nice leisurely pace they expect the trip to take a couple days.

Lastly what to do about Rob? Julio recommended he be confined in the mill till John succeeds in returning to London and his mission is completed. He's confident in his set up and the seclusion of the spot. Even IF Rob managed to get loose, he'd have to walk for several hours before he found people, several more till he found English speaking people!

John is the most wary of this detail, after all confining someone by chains in a secluded, crumbling, historical monument is skirting the limits of what John can do as a moral man. But again Julio assures him that Rob won't suffer in his little mill prison and that Julio will have one of his house up there with him at all times, to make sure he has everything he should need.

Still John feels a bit worried about that loose end, as well as the owner of the horse. In his mind they represent a lack of severe control that he hasn't allowed since Harry...

"John?" With a start he realises she has crouched down beside him against the wall of the small awning they hide in during the day. Before he can ask her what she's doing Mary continues on, "Are you okay? Sea-sick? Only you've gone a bit of a funny colour."

Grasping at any excuse so he doesn't have to talk about the horrible things he's seen John lies, "Yes, must be coming on slowly..." But the frowning face looking at him isn't believing him. "That John Watson is the worst lie I've ever heard! Why would you after a day and a half suddenly be sea sick?"

Baffled John retorts, "You suggested the very thing!"

"Yes," Mary admits smugly with a bit of anger, "to see if you'd lie to me or not."

With a groan he let's his head fall against the edge of the boat with a muffled thump. Tentatively Mary lays a hand on his elbow, "John, you've been through a lot lately, maybe... maybe you need to talk about some of it before it eats you up."

With narrowed eyes, "I don't need therapy."

Smiling Mary nods, "I don't think so either, but if you don't get this off your chest, you will." Not letting him deny it she continues on, "Look, you've saved my life, what? two, three times? Let me do something for you please. Just tell me about your life on the run, I'm sure there are plenty of stories there and I'm happy to listen to any of them." Her hand gripping surprisingly tightly for a second, "Let me help you John."

Hanging his head a moment he thinks, she's right, and John knows it. The memories are dragging him down with worry that they are affecting his decisions adding it's own brand of pain. So after a few quiet minutes of studying the boards in the side of the craft John raises his eyes to Mary. The clear pain in the muddy blue eyes - almost black in this light - making her stomach clench. "Harry and I took the Eurostar to Paris. She was a funny one... my lesbian sister, didn't notice there was something more between me and Sherlock. As we pulled out of St. Pancras station I was trying not to die inside and she's saying, 'he was just a flatmate'. But I dare say she figured out her brother out eventually."

Nodding encouragingly Mary remains silent so as to not jinxs her luck in getting John to talk.

"We tried to be so clever, Harry thought it would be enough to get on and off the Eurostar a couple times, lay a few false trails out to Cornwall and Wales with tickets, even one to the Netherlands from the Lille station in France. So by the time we got to Paris our fear was ratcheted down a touch." Shaking his head ruefully, "We took a room at a small hotel well away from the normal tourist traps and my sister seemed to believe we were invincible. Now I know she had no concept of how horrible Moriarty truly was, or how far reaching he could be!"

"After three days of hiding out in our hotel room she succeeded in convincing me no one would notice us in the large group of tourists that is always at the Eiffel tower. Stupid mistake, I know, but my sister always could talk me into stupid stuff. We were half way across the lawns to the tower when I saw two different men shadowing us. Needless to say we left, but it didn't matter."

"What followed was the oddest car chase I've ever seen. On one hand thankfully they weren't brandishing guns, but on the other, if they had been maybe the cabbie would have been less inclined to slow down three times and offer to let either of them them take us!"

Chuckling a bit at the memory, "Now my Parisian French isn't great, but I understand a fair amount and in the end I heard, over the radio, that the cabbie ditched our tails, dropping us at our hotel, because he got a fare out to the airport and was needed there ASAP before another driver could scoop it."

"When we got into our room I logged onto the internet, doing as Anthea suggested and hiding my electronic footprints well, laying a false trail all over the globe to check my email address. There was only one message in the inbox, a video file. I didn't think much of it and opened it without realising Harry was still roaming about as her tub hadn't finished filling yet. So she was walking past just as the viewing window opened up."

Looking a bit green as he starts talking about it John carries on determinedly, "At first all I could see was Moriarty's face that looked perversely open and friendly. But the words falling from his lips were anything but, describing my... rape and his clear enjoyment of it. So drawn in by the horrible memories he was invoking I didn't realise Harry was there till she cursed quietly..."

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"Oh fuck Jonny he's wanking! What a sick fuck."

Blinking himself out of the odd stupor the malevolent words were having on him, John notes that Moriarty's left arm is jerking in an all too familiar way. With perfect timing the person filming pulls the view back to reveal more of him. He's relaxed back in one of those huge wingback chairs, his right knee hitched over the armrest, hand working feverishly in the gap of his trousers. Clearly Moriarty has only undone his expensive trousers and shifted them down a bit to gain access to his cock, and pants were clearly an option that morning. John blinks as he realises that Moriarty is dressed the same as the day he was raped. In the exact same suit and he just undid his zip then too and... A fine tremor runs through John as he realises Moriarty is purposely re-creating his rape to traumatise John again.

"Oh my god Jonny, is that shit he's spouting true? Did he... did he do half of what he's saying?" Her hand hesitantly touching his shoulder, never the less John jerks in shock and relived trauma at the light contact. "Oh Jonny, why didn't you tell me? I thought he just beat the hell out of you."

John frowns as he tries to avoid the piercing gaze of the man wanking to the remembrances of John's rape. Thankfully Moriarty seems to have gotten himself all worked up and it isn't long before the wanking, and the vitriol stop with heaving, panted breaths.

With a shudder John reaches to close the window, but the man on the screen suddenly opens his eyes and looks at John. "Now, now, little rabbit, look at the attachment and run. Run! Rabbit! Run!"

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No notes this time everything was pretty straight forward. BUT if you find something confusing don't hesitate to PM me!


	10. Lends You A Hand

Smiling bitterly up at Mary John carries on,"Then, just to spite him, I didn't look at the attachment. Well that and I had to deal with Harry glaring holes in the side of my head. So I closed the machine down and..."

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Turning to engage his sister's venomous expression John tries to figure out how to answer her questions. Sighing deeply he rubs a hand over his eyes and down over his mouth; as though trying to rub off the humiliation coursing through him. Not baring to hold eye contact John fiddles with the cuff of his shirt as he tries to answer.

"I'm sorry, but when you didn't guess right away I was happy, like I might be able to keep from loosing face in front of one more person. It was bad enough that Lestrade, Mycroft, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson all knew; I was so happy I had someone in my life who wouldn't know what depraved things Moriarty did to me! I hate the fact that it felt like they were all waiting for me to fall apart. I'm just a victim to them now."

Instantly Harry's demeanour changes, her eyes softening a bit, but the glint in her eyes remains, "Jonny, let's get this straight right now," gesturing fiercely with her right hand, enumerating her points, she launches into it, "I couldn't think less of you, because I know who you are, better than any of them! Nor will I be waiting for you to fall apart because I know what your made of; military grade John Hamish Watson. I think your doing your friends a disservice there, none of them is thick little brother. Lastly, I will not treat you like a victim, or feel badly for you because it happened, you knew the man you were working for (better even than I did, I think)." Pointing at him suddenly with the other hand, "but Jonny I am furious and if I get a chance for revenge I will kill him for touching you."

Stifling an inappropriate chuckle at his sister's protectiveness, "Okay Harry, you and I will someday have our pound of flesh." He offers up his hand to seal the deal and they shake firmly.

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"That was it then, she knew my deepest secret and now so do you. Knowledge I had hoped to keep anyone else from discovering and yet it follows my every move, like a sign around my neck." Waving a hand away from himself, as if to wave the issue away, John sighs, "So it was a couple days before I remembered the warning."

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Pursing his lips in irritation at himself John opens his email again and checks the attachment to the video. This time he waited till his sister was in the tub, the lights dimmed, with some light music playing to relax her. The two of them haven't been out of the hotel much and cabin fever had begun to set in.

Allowing himself to wince, closing his left eye and tilting his head slightly away, John mentally prepares himself for the worst as he taps on the attachment to the email from Moriarty. What opens up surprises him more than the video humiliated him. An electronic booking for two first class tickets from Paris to Cologne stares back at him. Cursing at the screen John scribbles off a note about going to Gare du Nord station. Praying Harry listens to his advice and stays in the room, John dashes off down the hallway.

An hour later John is about to rip his hair out, the man behind the divider changing the tickets is now lecturing him on changing his mind twice in their conversation.

"Monsieur?! Do you not understand every time I begin to change this and you change your mind again you accrue a changing charge? You comprehend this, non?"

John does his level best to smile and quip back, "But what's the good of exploring if your tied into a schedule?"

"But of course, Monsieurur. Right away... But perhaps buying on the day of travel is more your, well..." The posh well turned out man gives John a careful look, scanning head to toes. Then with a light toss of one shoulder, "your style seems a bit 'on the go', maybe cashing this in and just buying on the day would be best. Any pre-booking savings you'd have you've obliterated with these changes!"

John tries to smother the giggles, that threaten to make him laugh in the man's face, "Can I do that? My Uncle bought the ticket for me, so it would have to be cash..."

Shaking his head the Frenchman starts typing and muttering in French under his breath. Moments later he counts out just under three hundred and fifty Euros onto the counter and pushes them through to John. "Bonne chance Monsieur!"

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"Needless to say Harry was very put out that I went alone, but it being done we packed our bags and left the next day taking an erratic rout to Italy via coach buses." John goes quiet for a moment, staring out into the inky black sky.

"John?" Mary's voice tipping up in a quizzical tone at the end, "you don't have to tell it all to me tonight, right? Here have some bread and cheese."

John takes the food, but shakes his head no, "I want to get it out, as much at once as possible so we can get past this horrendous conversation. Then maybe I can think about something else for once, you know what I mean?" Mary nods wordlessly. "Alright then, when we got to Toulouse I risked looking at my email again, god I should have known better. As soon as I touched my inbox some nasty virus opened up another video from Moriarty."

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A cold shudder runs through John as he sees those dark, glassy eyes staring out at him. For a few moments he's frozen there looking into the smirking countenance of Jim Moriarty, then his ears register more sounds. Off camera there is a rustling, clinking sound that immediately has John shifting forward in his seat, 'Oh god, Sherlock!' flits through his mind as he recognises the sound.

Moriarty chuckles, the hollow, faked tonality of it unnerving John even more, "I can almost see you worrying about who I have here with me, no worries now, it's no one you know." The camera pans slowly back till a good portion of Moriarty is exposed and the left shoulder of someone is clear in the frame. "But maybe it's someone you recognise Jonny?"

Narrowing his eyes, John tries to see something define-able about the person struggling in chains. Almost immediately he breathes a huge sigh of relief as he recognises that the shoulder in question could not - ever - belong to Sherlock. It is by far too thickly muscled and doesn't have a low enough body to fat ratio.

One sentence jumps out at John, from the narrative of sick things Moriarty is saying, "I do regret not taking my time with you Jonny, but really I know I was too angry to be able to leave you alive at the end, if I did. So this should compensate for that missed opportunity."

John feels an almost physical sinking sensation in his stomach, as his ears buzz slightly, 'Oh god, he can't mean...' Unable to even voice it in his thoughts John watches, the sinking sensation escalating to a lurching feeling, as he realises the reason he hadn't recognised the shoulder in frame. There is no modified starburst of scar tissue. The camera pans back a bit more and the back of a familiar looking greying dirty blond head comes into view, as well as a copy the former soldier's upper body straining in chains at Moriarty's feet.

"Just think of him as your stand in John."

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Here is a short chapter with another cliffy, just thought you'd like it now as 3pm today marks both the beginning of Half Term and the Invasion Of The In-laws, so for the next week and a half I am both be-childrened and be-guested, so I doubt there will be lots of opportunity to write! Can't you just see it, "What have you been Writing there dear?" "Oh... Porn, well really, just now, a rape scene, in a slash fic, about a soldier who's gone MIA."

I think she'd be bullying my partner into suing for custody of the kids in ten minutes or less don't you? ;)

Not many actual notes, except 'Bonne chance' is French for good luck. That was one of the scenes I giggled over writing because I have the Frenchman's exact look and mannerisms in my head. I can even hear his voice clear as a bell! My last two read throughs are out loud and when I read that bit I modify the spelling to fit a French accent, like 'this' being 'dis' instead. But I didn't want to loose clarity for humours sake, so I didn't write it out that way.


	11. In His Nowhere Land

Okay people, in this chapter there are a few warnings, which will be happening more often as we get through the meat of why John went to ground! I try to not dwell so much on gory detail, but some detail is necessary to pull you into John's world.

So here's the warnings: flash backs to violence, oral rape and a personalised snuff film. If any of that is a trigger for you, be warned.

Very special thanks to junejuly for keeping my head on straight during 'the invasion' and extra special thanks to Sendai for reminding me that people wanted more!

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John stares at the screen, his stomach clenching and seeming to want to come up the back of his throat as he watches, motionless with fear, like a rabbit in the headlamps. The pain in his stomach expanding to include his chest as he watches Moriarty debase the man chained to the ground at his feet.

Long ago the man stopped struggling, after his face was beaten to an unrecognisable mass, and a few of his teeth lay scattered on the floor, he stopped begging Moriarty to free him, stopped even begging to die. He just knelt there propped up by Moriarty's fists in his hair as the mad man shoved his cock in and out of the broken gaping orifice the poor soul once referred to as his mouth.

Clutching the waste bin to his chest John feels another wretch come on as he hears the horrifyingly familiar cadence of Moriarty's release beginning. Somewhere in the middle it suddenly gets wilder and more expressive than John recalls, as Moriarty shudders and thrusts through his climax. John remains frozen, horror and worry abundant over what would constitute 'another level' of sexual enjoyment to a rapist.

As Moriarty gasps and whines through the end stages of his orgasm the camera clues John in. Very slowly it pans down to the still figure Moriarty has released to lie in a awkwardly slumped position. Slowly it focuses in on the chest and the impossible way one shoulder is folded under the rest of the collapsed body. A fine tremor begins to run through John as he waits to see movement, 'God in that position I should be able to see the lungs expanding extensively, to bring in great gasps of breath, especially after the way he was being gagged.'

Long moments pass, then a lilting cold laughter that's almost giggling fills the room. "Oh shit! I think I got a bit carried away there Jonny. So glad I didn't do this with you for real, look at all the fun I'd miss out on chasing you around Europe!"

John gags and wretches again into the waste bin to the sound track of Moriarty's laughter.

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Mary looks at him, her eyes wide and staring, "Good god John, you mean to tell me that poor man died?"

Nodding slowly, "Another ex-military bloke pinched to replace me. The poor sod was in the wrong place at the wrong time. His blood is on my hands now too and even though I've cut the head off the hydra, Moran is just as deadly, not to mention unhinged!" John furiously dry washes his hands and stares out at the rolling water. A long moment draws over them as Mary tries to absorb the horrific story.

Turning to him suddenly with curious eyes, "You haven't told me much about Moran, okay Rob talked about him, but I definitely don't trust his judgement!" John snorts a wry agreement, "Why are you so certain he's as bad as Moriarty was?"

John shrugs his good shoulder once, "Besides the certainty that someone who is willing to besmirch another's reputation by kidnapping children in disguise, then framing them for the kidnapping, let alone enjoy working for Moriarty, that person has to be unhinged. But who do you suppose was filming all the videos?"

Watching the information trickle through Mary's expression, slowly gathering speed as facts are becoming clearer to her, John sighs, "It would have to be someone he knows very well, that he shares intimacy with already, or the videos wouldn't have been so clear cut and professional. Moran is the only one I can think of that could fill such a gap."

Mary looks toward the horizon, blindly taking in the view to give herself time to think, "Certainly makes sense... so he's most likely a crazy nutter and he's got cross hairs on your boyfriend. What are we going to do about that?"

John smiles shortly, "Well we will move like fucking shadows and get to London before he knows what's going on. Then we'll make sure he can't do anything to anyone else."

"Okay... Sounds a touch vague, but a work in progress I guess. We get to Italy, then we get the money - as long as we haven't been duped by that slick Julio - what do we do then? How do we move unseen?"

John shrugs, "We walk, cross country, as much as we can. Only take public transport from small centres and most importantly, avoid CCTV. It's not perfect, there are places we'll have to travel around, but it is possible to do."

Mary playfully fakes a dramatic flinch, "Why do I have the feeling my feet are going to be worn right off before this is over?"

John pushes the comment off with a casual flick of his wrist, "No worries, we'll get you a pair of proper German hiking sandals and your feet will be fine!" Further comment is cut short by his mobile alarm going off. "Shit one hour to text Moran in, what the hell do I say?"

Mary watches speculatively as John slowly pulls out Moriarty's mobile delaying the inevitable by as many seconds as he can. "John?" her eyes widening a fraction, "last time you texted him, he was a bit surely and informal. Do you think Moriarty would let him get away with that."

With a deep in and out breath John nods a touch, "Your right, Moriarty would never let it stand, I just get so uncomfortable trying to think like that... like him, that I..." A fine tremble makes its way through John's frame as he tries to force his mind away from Jim Moriarty. Mary gives a tight smile, trying to be as supportive as she can.

"So you just make it a bit cold, and tell him your almost done figuring out where you, John, has gone. That aught to set him straight, as well as show him his place."

John looks intently at the dead man's mobile, "That's a very astute suggestion Mary, I think I'll do just that."

15/09/12 08:18Jim: Things are going just about as expected. Fortunately Rob, though stupid, can still manage to focus long enough to shoot. There's at least three trails for Watson, I have a feeling at least one is a false trail they made up to appease me. Going to spend a day making sure of the validity of the intel. I love testing the validity of the intel.

It was only a few moments later when the mobile chimed.

15/09/12 08:19mormor: I know you do. Enjoy... just not too long.

Suppressing a shudder John replies,

15/09/12 08:20Jim: Forget telling me what to do, you watch the boarders, he's slipped us before.

15/09/12 08:20mormor: Of course Jim.

John breathes deeply and slowly a couple times, "Looks like we bought ourselves another half day."

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Sorry this took so long I had family visiting over half term and got NOTHING done. Anyways, short chapter, more soon.

Ta


	12. For Nobody

If not for JJ this wouldn't be here, so thanks for the encouragement!

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Sherlock surveys the dim grey-washed walls surrounding him, 'When did the walls of my 'mind palace' become as boring and tedious as the real world?' Something jars his mind out of the back rooms and he finally looks at Lestrade, "What useless thing are you going on about now?"

Fighting his natural inclination to throttle Sherlock, Lestrade starts over at the beginning, for a third time. "I just wanted to ask if you were sure about the case. You have been very distracted lately and I was wondering if you re-thought your conclusions any?"

Levelling his best narrow-eyed, 'how thick are you' expression at the poor DI, Sherlock launches into his explanation, "There were markings on her upper back consistent with being dragged before being redressed so I tested some of the samples for pollen and earth composition, this easily gave me an area. Then I just had to... Why are you staring at me?"

Lestrade throws his hands up in frustration, "You idiot, you didn't tell us you got samples off the victim, I thought you were just going off on a tangent again!"

Sherlock shrugs, not bothering to mention Molly was the one who did the actual collecting, "I'm sorry but you don't have an advanced thinker in the whole lot of the Met. That is not my fault!"

"Of course it's your fault!" Lestrade snipes back, "You need to tell me when you do stuff like this Sherlock. I need to know! You know I can't keep covering up for you whenever you break the chain of evidence. I'm not going to let you ruin my life, like your doing to yours!"

Instantly the air between them seems colder as Sherlock's eyes, flashing with an inner fire, narrow again, focusing in on Lestrade. "I'm terribly sorry if my blatant agony throws you off when your fucking my brother. Oh no, wait, it wouldn't, not at all. You see your dalliance with my brother as getting even with your wife! Or have we advanced beyond that by now?"

His fist clenched and cocked before he knows it, Lestrade sees a flicker of gratitude on Sherlock's gaunt face before he closes his eyes. Almost on its own the fist lowers and loosens, confusion over Sherlock's expression rife, "Look mate, I don't harass you about not eating, or living off energy drinks and I don't constantly ask you how you bloody feel, even after all these years. Don't you think you could offer me the same curtsey?"

Restlessly he rubs a hand over his face and into his hair, tufts sticking every which way after its passage, "I", Lestrade's voice cracks, he swallows and starts again in a softer tone, "I don't mind when you go on a tear about my staff, that's 'work', but don't talk about my private life as a way to hurt me. Understood?"

Sherlock, who's been fiddling with his phone restlessly, looks up at Lestrade, for the first time since closing his eyes and Lestrade has to stifle the urge to gasp. Sherlock's eyes are round and staring, seemingly, right through the DI, almost colourless and somehow appearing hard, reflecting his inner turmoil back at Lestrade. Sherlock tilts his chin up a touch in a classic defensive motion, but wearing that expression it looks more like a desperate motion. "It was three years ago today Greg."

Lestrade blinks in confusion, firstly at the sudden use of his first name, secondly because they all had the anniversary of John's leaving circled on their calendar every year and it is a couple weeks yet. "What do you mean today? I thought..."

Sherlock nods, "Yes it is still some time before that day. It was three years ago today that we first made love." Sherlock's voice cracks and wavers a bit at the end, forcing him to turn away. Leaving Lestrade both relieved he's turned that torn, aching, painful expression away from him, but also worried because he doesn't know what could possibly be worse.

"God Sherlock." Abortively putting a hand on his shoulder twice before actually settling it there and giving him a reassuring squeeze. Lestrade stays there for a drawn out moment, "What do you want me to do?"

The shoulder under his hand is surprisingly lax, shrugging slightly, "I want to be alone, but I shouldn't be... I suppose."

Lestrade pulls away from the distraught man, "Well then, how about I give you a few, in my office, to pull yourself together and then I'll give you a ride back to 221. Maybe we could visit Mrs. Hudson, I haven't seen her in ages." Pausing with his hand on the door he waits for Sherlock to respond.

Eventually, his voice, deeper than usual - slightly breathless, as though there's no energy behind it - offers up a meek, "I think that might be best."

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Quietly closing his office door Lestrade has his mobile out and is dialling Mycroft before the latch catches. It rings through to his answering service, "Myc, call me ASAP, it's a danger night."  
Then in the next breath he calls Mrs. Hudson, who answers on the fourth ring,

"Hello Mrs. Hudson? Greg Lestrade calling."

"Oh hello dear, what can I do for you today?"

Shuffling his feet a bit on the lino, "I have a bit of bad news I'm afraid, tonight's a danger night for Sherlock. Are you in this afternoon?"

"Oh dear me, well I was going to nip out to the shops later on, but nothing that can't be shifted, poor dear. I thought the big day was..."

Turning and staring at his office door trying to avoid making his embarrassment obvious he responds, "Yes, apparently today marks the first intimate moment for them."

"Oh. Oh, I see. Well best get him over here and call that brother of his."

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The next morning as Sherlock wanders through the sitting room of 221B he takes stock in how his life has changed. Lestrade has taken up Sherlock's usual spot in an untidy sprawl on the sofa, while Mycroft is quietly sitting in the armchair across from John's flipping through some papers from the case at his feet.

Three years ago this would never have happened, never would he have allowed it. Grudgingly he'd allowed Lestrade to stay over in his flat before, especially when he was getting clean, but to have his brother there, that was odd. Odder still was that he seemed, at least, a bit comfortable there.

Most of the rest of the world around Sherlock has all faded away without John. He can't even remember the last time he argued with Donavon or Anderson, they're just static around him that he tunes out now. But a few have cleaved to him, not letting him melt away, and the connection to them is something Sherlock is, on this morning, suddenly shocked to realise.

Not looking up from his papers Mycroft addresses his little brother in a whisper, "Are you ready?"

Trying not to let the superior attitude and vague discourse destroy the close familial feelings he had just discovered Sherlock metaphorically bites his tongue and answers back in a whisper, "Ready for what?"

Without a word his brother stands and walks toward Sherlock's room, sparing a glance to make sure Lestrade is still sleeping. Irritated at Mycroft's heavy handed ness Sherlock feels that elusive family bond pulling a bit.

Once the door is shut Mycroft gestures to his brother to sit down and perches himself on the foot of the bed. Momentarily amused by the memory of his brother, doing just this, getting ready to read him a story or tuck him in, softens his irritation and Sherlock sinks slowly to sit facing Mycroft.

"I once told you caring was not an advantage and in a lot of ways I still hold to this edict. Caring for John and having him so ruthlessly removed from your life has not been an advantage. But I see now applications where the opposite is true, as an example, I care for the well being of my younger brother, no matter how it irks him. I will do anything, at all, to make his world right again. Caring gives me added incentive in this case."

Sherlock blinks at his brother, but does not speak (possible due to shock) eventually Mycroft keeps talking.

"I have not been idle over the last, nearly, three years and we have tracked a fair number of Moriarty's accomplices. The man himself is still a ghost, but there has been a flurry of movement in his network of late and I thought you would be interested to know about it."

Swallowing the sick crawling feeling in the back of his throat Sherlock ventures, "Is like the last time when..."

Mycroft speaks over him quickly and absently, if a bit superstitiously, reaching out to touch the wooden footboard of the bed, "No, not like that, but there was some hubbub surrounding a young lady Moriarty is tracking for a business associate. More people called in to consult than one would think necessary for a primary school teacher. For all we know Moriarty himself could have gone."

Sherlock's face, having gone pale as Mycroft spoke, comes up with an excited flush, his eyes darting back and forth as he covers the information he knows of Moriarty's people.

The school teacher had been engaged to a ruthless man, a one Rand Savage, and ran. The contract killer they 'flipped', four months ago, told them as much. She seemed to think she'd slipped the noose, as it were, but Moriarty has a man on her 2-4-7. Yet she has no idea she's being followed, or is she's playing a really long game?

Sherlock's mind filters down all the possibilities and then queries, "Are you, very thinly, suggesting she may be with John?"

Smiling in his usual, butter won't melt in my mouth manner, "I assure you I have no idea whom she is with... But the evidence does rather lend itself to that thought, doesn't it?"

Sherlock sits there motionless, riffling his 'mind palace' for another solution, as his brother stands and leaves the room, his mind spinning out all the possibilities in a fog of euphoria, it stalls on one final thought emblazoned onto the walls of the great front hall in the 'palace' in yellow zinc spray paint, 'John is still alive!'

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Wow! So I was waiting for some translation work on the next chapter (which was supposed to be THIS chapter, but my Latin translator had a four day thing!) and chatting with my good friend junejuluy when I asked 'should I do a chapter on Sherlock? While we wait? I was toying with the idea of not covering Sherlock till John gets to London (whoops spoiler ;)) she encouraged me to do so, so here we are!

I don't think there is anything that needs any extra explination... Well maybe how OOC Sherlock is being, but honestly if he had stayed as distant and removed as he is post falling in love with John, he'd have curled up in a ball and killed himself ages ago!

Anything else, PM me!  
Ta


	13. Please Listen

Just a mention or two before we dive in! A huge thank you to my RL best mate for the Latin translation, she fussed and worried and thought it over A LOT. Secondly to my AO3 pal Nim who did all the Italian translations, though she was quick to say she's a northerner and might have a different dialect ;)

Lastly, JJ? Your wish is my comand... This time, here you go, spent my whole kid free day on this to get it out the door. Enjoy.

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After a long hot day hidden away in the awning contraption that shelters the fisher's catch and bait, John begins to wonder if he could actually develop delayed onset sea sickness. Though the analytical doctor part of his mind tells him it's just a product of being in close quarters with half alive fish, bait and being wedged into a tiny space along the edge of the container, holding the same position, motionless for hours on end. He knows the shear monotony of it all has lulled him into sleep a couple of times, just as he can hear the half snore of Mary sleeping lying along the other side of the container, John begins to worry about what woke him.

Rocking his head ever so slightly forward John is forced to bite hard into his lip to stop the grunt of pain from coming out. Seconds later he is very happy he was successful.

"Cur huc venisti?"

Some random shuffling of feet and the sound of cloth rustling comes to John, "Dominus iussit mini eos in Italiam conferendus esse. Credis me kudos facere, ludibundus greges transportare? "

"Cur iterem adsuetum non facisti?"

"Dominus dixit quod aliquis eos quaerabat; ergo mihi necesse erat magna cum discretione venire, quasi cellam implendus."

"Aisne? Quis eos quaerit?"

"Non scio. Fortasse britannicus."

"Nonne Iceman?"

"Immo, dominus dixit quod Iceman quasi socium discutebant."

"Ita. Nunc mutatrum facemus. Di immortales! Libera eos a cellula cobionis. Vix capax est cani!"

Moments later the cloth hanging over the doorway is yanked aside and in halting English the fisherman beckons John and Mary out. "It is fine, bit warm, but you come out, yes?" With the sound of a choked off snort Mary starts awake moaning as her stiff limbs shift about of their own accord.

John works slowly till he is on his knees looking into the man's face. There are no signs of worry, or urgency in his face, nor is his baring rigid at all, if anything the relaxed set of his eyes and jaw tell John he's happy to have their visitor. "Good, we are coming out." at this the fisherman smiles and ducks out the door again.

Turning toward the direction of the soft moans, "Mary, do you think you can stand?" First there is a slightly louder moan, then, "Yes, bloody hell, don't know how, I feel like my bones are fused! But I'll do it." John smirks and levers himself upwards and out the doorway at the same time to give her access to both the room to manoeuvre and the way out.

The first thing he sees is a bloke dressed in a uniform of some kind, an Italian port Captain he supposes, and behind him the moored up speed boat that he arrived on. It must have been the motor sounds coming close then stopping instead of fading away that woke John. The bloke himself doesn't look particularly surprised to see John's not some foreign youth working the boats to finance traveling the globe. Though an eyebrow does raise at the sight of Mary climbing out of the hatch.

What follows is very confusing as the new comer turns to their fisherman and bites off a quick comment John's certain isn't quite in Italian. The fisherman's face darkens as he growls back and John realises they are speaking in ancient Latin.

"Nonne possum eam in cellam ponere?"

"Stultissime, ea cum homine venivit! Dominum non iterrogabam!"

John, catching almost none of that, even though he has a bit of ancient Latin as a medical man, steps forward to take control of the conversation. "Excuse me, but why are you here. Is there some trouble?"

The uniformed man smiles, "No, no worries, Julio asked me to make sure you made landfall in Messina easily. There is also a matter of funds that I need to give you access to. Would you please follow me to my boat?"

John spends a couple seconds looking at the uniformed man, letting his 'gut reaction' to the man crystallise into a clear impression. Interestingly he gets that familiar feeling of danger he got from Julio, but also the clear impression the man is speaking the truth. There is no hint of dissembling in his expressions even though there is a strange tension present in, John suddenly realises, both of the Italian men.

"Very well, just let me get my bags." Turning to reach into the awning to retrieve his pack he gestures to Mary who is also reaching for her bundle. "Mary," he whispers barely loud enough for her to hear, even as close as they are, "don't let anything separate us. We stick together."

Standing up again, John catches her gaze as he turns and notes the tiny smile and bare dip of her chin in reply. Finishing his movement he looks to the fisherman, "Thank you so much for endangering your life by helping us. I will do what I can to make sure revenge is never visited upon you."

The old fisherman, possibly not catching all of John's statement, nods and claps him on the shoulder, gently pushing him toward the speed boat. Mary follows close behind just smiling and nodding at the older man.

Scant moments later the two of them are hunkered down on the seats, along the sides of the craft, as it skips over the water at a mind blurring speed toward land. After the slow sedate pace of the fishing boat their minds are tricked into thinking its moving even quicker than it is.

In no time they are up on the docks wearing rescue ponchos the Italian gave them. "I don't care what they say, or what I say, do not speak," he tosses over his shoulder. "Can you just embrace what ever it is that has set you to flight? Let the reality of it wash over you for now, play it up as much as you can. We need you to look like your in shock so no one questions you."

John and Mary nod and then look at one another, quickly their gaze is drawn inward, as each thinks over the last couple days, both easily getting lost in the memories.

Watching their faces go vacant and lost, eyes tracking nothing, just staring sightlessly out at the water, the man nods to himself, "Perfect."

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John is in hell, knowing he needs to 'keep his head down', he's followed the Italian's advice and immersed himself in the memories from the last few days. His ruthless mind keeps drawing him back to the cave and replaying the sounds that occurred whilst he attacked Moriarty. Every once in a while over-laid on the scuffle-thunking sounds a flash of Moriarty will pop up in his minds eye. Sometimes the mad gleeful git from the videos, but more and more the limp rag-doll body John bashed upon the cavern rocks. Until John's mind imagines he's beaten the man to the point that blood runs freely, his flesh is bruised and pliant like rotting fruit, coming away on his fingers in clumps of gore.

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Mary is thinking about the madness that has enveloped her world, how everything has turned upside down in mere days! Sometimes she wonders how she wound up standing shoulder to shoulder with a damaged man who killed another man in cold blood. Is it wrong that she doesn't care? Or should she be worried about this person she's blindly trusting?

No, she is quick to reassure herself of the facts she has learned. In the short time she has known John Watson, she has come to trust him completely, to feel very protective of him, and began wish she could erase some of the horrible things he's experienced in the last years. He has saved her life several times over and put himself and his lost partner at risk doing so. Mary has no wish to go to the police, not only does she believe John in that doing so would mean Sherlock's, and then their deaths, but she doesn't think anyone needs to know about the body in the cavern, ever.

So embroiled in their own thoughts neither notices another Port Captain asking their guide where they came from. John jolts to awareness and hears a bit of the conversation.

"Mi dica di questi scemi che se ne escono su una barchetta a remi mezza marcia! Pensavano di riuscire ad evitare di pagare il noleggio e invece ora devono pagare per la carretta che hanno affondato!"

The second man shakes his head in disbelief, "Sono americani? Sono spesso cosí... "

With a hefty shrug, "Potrebbero anche essere canadesi, ma non ne sono sicuro, non li ho sentiti parlare a sufficienza per poterlo dire. Mah, tanto gli faró sputare il rospo alla fine. Noi andiamo a far visita al vecchio signore che era il proprietario della barca!"

"Quanto sono andati avanti con quella cosa prima che affondasse?"

Chuckling a bit now, "Sono partiti dall'altro lato di Capo Peloro, sono stati catturati dalla corrente e trascinati fin qui."

"Che imbecilli!"

Shortly after that John and Mary are ushered into a car and their guide pops behind the wheel and addresses them with a cheery smile. "Well that was well done! Afraid I've poked some fun at North American tourists, but for that no one will realise the story is about you and my co-worker will swear to it. After all by tomorrow he'll be sure he heard you both talking, especially if I say you did. The memory is funny that way, detail and suggestion is all it needs."

At a hectic speed he careens through the countryside, veering back and forth, "Now, I have an envelope with your money inside in the dash, sir?" Nodding his head towards the compartment, "If you please?"

John opens the compartment and immediately finds a rather thick envelope inside. As he pulls it out their guide carries on explaining. "There's two envelopes in the bigger one, one has a hundred thousand pound sterling and the other has just under two hundred and fifty three thousand Euro in it."

The car, after making some odd turns this way and that, seems to be boarding a train as the guide continues to explain, "We will take the car train to Italy and disembark at Catona. If you are interested a friend of mine has a Citroën C-Crosser for sale in the town of Amaroni. He has listed the price as 18.500€, though I'm sure you could haggle him down a fair bit, given you're using cash."

John just stared at the envelopes in his hand in shock, then just as quickly passes them back to Mary, after all it is her money. He starts to feel anxious as the driver pops out of his seat shedding his jacket. "What are we doing now?"

With an impatient gesture, "Well? Pass up the ponchos; I'd really like to be able to return to that job when I need it again, so I'd prefer not to burn this bridge." After a second or two of puzzled inactivity on the passenger's part they hastily remove the brightly coloured rescue ponchos as their guide pops the bottom half off the back passenger door revealing a cubby full of things a person with multiple identities might need. Their coverings get squashed down to mere handfuls and stuffed inside. In scant moments he's back at the wheel smiling.

"Go ahead and nap, I'll wait at the door," gesturing to a small doorway the conductor will surely come through to gather their payment, "for tickets. Feel free to relax, no one will question three people headed to Italy from Messina."

With that he closes the door of the car and goes to stand waiting. John jumps a bit as Mary suddenly starts talking, "This all seems a bit surreal to me. What about you?"

Not replying at first John leans back and watches their guide from under lowered lashes, "I'm not sure Mary, he did bring your money... Let's take turns sleeping, you first."

A murmured thanks and Mary's soft snore is heard again in moments. John just watches.

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Okay, this chapter has a few notes! Most important being, please ignore the anti American slur. I'm sorry but the rest of the world just roll their eyes and sigh when we're around. Its just the way it is, now I did say we, because I'm an expat Canadian and generally speaking we get lumped in with our southern neighbours ALL THE TIME! If you missed the slur, don't go looking, it's in Italian and I'm about to show the translation in the notes here.

Secondly, I fussed a LOT about where to put my translation. 50% of the delay in getting this chapter out was me fussing over that! Some writers put them beside the text so you read them along with your story, some put them at the end and then you've forgotten half what was going on in the scene by the time you read them! I really struggled with this, even asked my partner, who tried to help. But in the end, I feel that John and Mary didn't understand, so why should you?

Thirdly, the two sets of interactions that are translated are, in fact, in two different languages. The first, is, as John suspects, ancient Latin and the second Italian. There are reasons for that which will NOT be explained beyond this. The man with the boat and the first Port Captain are both in Julio's employ so they use ancient Latin as a layer of security. After all the number of people ON THE PLANET that can converse freely in that dead language is very, very small!

On with the Latin translation:  
Cur huc venisti? Why are you here?

Dominus iussit mini eos in Italiam conferendus esse. Credis me kudos facere, ludibundus greges transportare? The Master asked me to bring them into Italy. What did you think? I'm randomly transporting people for fun?

Cur iterem adsuetum non facisti? Why didn't you go the normal route?

Dominus dixit quod aliquis eos quaerabat; ergo mihi necesse erat magna cum discretione venire, quasi cellam implendus. The Master said they were being watched for, so I should move as though stocking the larder.

Aisne? Quis eos quaerit? Really? Who's looking for them?

Non scio. Fortasse britannicus. Don't know, someone from the UK.

Nonne Iceman? Not the Iceman?

Immo, dominus dixit quod Iceman quasi socium discutebant. No, the Mster said they talked about the Iceman as though he was an ally.

Ita. Nunc mutatrum facemus. Di immortales! Libera eos a cellula cobionis. Vix capax est cani! Right! We'll do the switch now, and for god's sake, let them out of the bait shed. There's hardly enough room for a dog in there!

(then John and Mary climb out and a bit more talking happens)

Nonne possum eam in cellam ponere? Are you sure that one isn't for the larder?

Stultissime, ea cum homine venivit! Dominum non iterrogabam! She came with the man you numpty, I wasn't about to ask the Master what he was doing.

And now the Italian translation:  
Mi dica di questi scemi che se ne escono su una barchetta a remi mezza marcia! Pensavano di riuscire ad evitare di pagare il noleggio e invece ora devono pagare per la carretta che hanno affondato! Tell me about it, idiots going out in a half rotted out rowing skiff! Thought they'd avoid paying the rental fee, well now they have to pay for the skiff they sank!

Sono americani? Sono spesso cosí... Are they Americans? They are so often so...

Potrebbero anche essere canadesi, ma non ne sono sicuro, non li ho sentiti parlare a sufficienza per poterlo dire. Mah, tanto gli faró sputare il rospo alla fine. Noi andiamo a far visita al vecchio signore che era il proprietario della barca! I'm actually not sure, could be Cnadian too, haven't really said enough for me to be able to judge. Ah well, I'll get it out of them in the end. We're off to pay a visit to the old man who owned the skiff.

Quanto sono andati avanti con quella cosa prima che affondasse? How far did they get before they sank?

Sono partiti dall'altro lato di Capo Peloro, sono stati catturati dalla corrente e trascinati fin qui. They came into the water over on the other side of the point, got caught in a current and pulled down here.

Che imbecilli! Idiots!

And that is that! See you soon with the next chapter... And who will it be?!


	14. What He Wants To See

This (technically) is only half the chapter, but I felt like such a heel for making you guys wait so long that when I saw a good stopping point half way I took it! If things go as planned the other half will follow soon!

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John is watching their temporary guide haggle for them over the car when Mary speaks up again, "Is there more to your story John?"

With a sharp intake of air he turns and "There is indeed more, much more." Settling in his seat, half turned so he can see her face better, John steels himself to the idea of bringing up all the details again.

"I developed a real worry, as we traveled south, that if I didn't keep checking my email and getting these horrific messages from Moriarty he'd know somehow and take it out on Sherlock. Not to mention my fear that he'd just, out and out, kidnap Sherlock the next time and torture him to death."

Glancing away, "Something a foe of ours said back in the day, 'a disguise is just a self portrait' and I think the same goes for a ruse. This in mind I thought I could learn something from the horrible videos and messages, something of Moriarty's plans, maybe find a way to out think him and get around this accursed exile. John gives a shallow self depreciating laugh, "I was right where Moriarty wanted me, manipulated in exactly the manner he wished."

Fidgeting a bit and watching their guide gesture derisively at the car they are looking to buy John sighs, "To be manipulated like that and know it's happening as it occurs is almost more destructive than the manipulation its self. Not only did I understand this from the point of view of the victim, but as a doctor I did my psych rotation when training up. I was fully aware of how each event was pushing me further from the possibility of regaining mental stability, further from the ability to reach out to even Harry and say, 'I'm freaked out.' Then..." with a half-laugh, half-snort John looks Mary in the eye again.

"Then I got a SMS on my phone. Even though I was so sure it could only be Anthea (since she was the only one with that number) I should have thought more carefully, once bitten and all that. Moriarty had already proven he was a ruthless son of a bitch and could get to me just about anywhere, why didn't I think?"

Mary silently reaches a hand out and gently, slowly, lowers it onto his shoulder, making sure John sees it coming. As she grips his muscle tightly, trying to convey support, she watches his face. A face she has seen glimmer and sparkle talking of his lost love, tinged with bittersweet memory, his face is often in a 'tough bloke' set pattern, his eyes slightly narrowed, chin up aggressively, and little to no expression to his lips.

The face before her is neither of these. Even before, when he spoke of sicking up over the other man's death, there wasn't this... void to his expression. His eyes are big and round with a touch of a glassy sheen to them. Mary is sure it isn't tears, as there's no accumulation against the lower edge of the eye, more, she thinks, a testament to the shock he's experiencing. His chin has sunk, almost to his breast, the slump in the shoulders expressing the obvious weight this insanity has had on him. The line of his jaw is almost slack as his mouth twists, his lips and tongue trying to work past the distress the past days have built up in him.

Perfectly timed John's mobile alarm goes off. Mary watches as John's eyes close slowly and a long slow breath hisses out of him. The expression of his face shifting from the harsh lines of distress, completely, to the lax muscles of a passive, debilitated man, weary with the world and his current lot in it.

"And that would be my queue to start thinking up something to say to Moran. Bugger."

"Well," Mary searches John for the determination and grit she's used to seeing there, "our luck has held with Moran longer than either of us thought, I worry about that." A flicker of something in John's eyes spurs her on, "Our original plan was to be very, well, meandering in our approach to the UK, but if our luck fails during all that it'll be for naught."

To her relief, the tight, stubborn, jaw-forward expression of 'John Watson being determined to do what ever it takes to make Sherlock safe', slides effortlessly into place. "What do you suggest then?"

"We make a bit of an effort to alter our selves, and drive straight there. You've done the slow and steady path, and yes you did slip out of sight for a while, but frankly I think we'll run out of time if we try that on." Holding her breath Mary watches as her partner in crime weighs his options against her opinions.

After a long quiet moment, "What do you mean by 'alter'?"

"Oh things like temporary hair dye, or wigs, fake facial hair, that kind of thing."

One swift nod and the landscape of John Watson's face has done an about turn. "Ok," Mary smiles, "if we do that, straight up through France to England, then we know where to say Moriarty is looking. The best part though is you only have to keep that alarm for another day."

For a long moment no one in the car speaks, both of them thinking about what it would mean to be in London just over twenty-four hours from then. John pulls out Moriarty's mobile and keys it open.

15/09/12 19:48Jim: The Greek did lay a false trail to Italy, we are looking to validate the overland (through Germany) route and a trail leading to Spain. Real details coming to the fore are exciting.

15/09/12 19:50mormor: Well surely only ONE of the trails it true.

15/09/12 19:51Jim: Of course, but it was laid by John Watson, and by studying it I can figure out his plan. Sounds like we need to go over your glib tone when I get back.

15/09/12 19:52mormor: I can't wait.

Showing Mary the screen John watches the two Italians coming over to the car. Opening the driver's side door their guide leans in, "He's happy to give you the car for fifteen thousand Euro as your giving him cash. Sound good to you?"

Mary looks up from the mobile to see everyone looking at her, recalling John's earlier comment about it being her choice, with it being her money and all, Mary smiles. "Sounds great, I'd like to look at it first though, maybe take it for a test drive."

The owner of the car smiles back and in broken english, "Si, I have good dirt track in farm, better test than any road."

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Four hours later sees them on the road in a mud splashed Citroën C-Crosser. It passed it's vetting in the mucky back fields of the farm and Mary has gleefully handed over the bills. With the keys in her hand they wave goodbye to both men and head for the nearest town big enough to have a costume shop.

"I've been thinking about this Mary, it doesn't need to be a great wig, just something that will fool facial recognition software that might be on any of the security cameras we encounter."

Mary's jaw drops, "Do you think this Moran character has access to the security feeds in foreign countries?"

Quick to reassure her John smiles, "No, no, that's an unrealistic. I'm thinking more along the lines of cameras at the border, now, excluding the border with the UK, all countries in the EU are open. Barring moments of civil unrest, like two years when France put up it's border with Italy again because they were being flooded with refugees from Africa, an EU citizen can move freely. We shouldn't even see a border crossing."

He watches as confusion wrinkles Mary's forehead. "Then why did I have to show my passport at the airport in Greece? Sure seemed like there was a border then."

Suppressing a smirk John replies, "It's just a token check within the EU, a way of making the people from other nations not feel singled out I'd guess. They are, of course, also checking you have a valid EU pass. But the UK is a bit of a special case, as always, in that we still have our own currency and we hold ourselves separate from the EU at times. So we are always checked a bit more rigorously, but on the roads there are only a series of tolls."

Comprehension smoothing the lines in her face Mary nods, "And that's where you suspect images to be taken. Right." Seeming a bit hesitant, having merged onto a left hand drive, dual carriageway, she stays over on the far right which is the slower lane of traffic. "Can we really suspect Moriarty has connections to all those cameras?"

Waiting calmly till the car is coasting along in the slow lane John turns to the driver, "I don't expect him to have contacts with all of them, but on the off chance that someone, either between Italy and France, or the UK and France, is on his payroll... Well I'm not willing to risk that."

Laughing, "That would be our luck wouldn't it John?" Her confidence in driving on the opposite side of the road coming on Mary switches into the faster lane to get around some of the really slow traffic. "So are you going to finish your story now?"

Feeling better than when they started out with this conversation, John nods curtly, "Sure, we are getting closer to the end." Turning and watching the southern Italy countryside flow by he thinks back to where in the story he was.

"Clearly I wasn't really thinking at all, when I got that message on my phone I just opened it. I'd like to say I was thinking it was safe because only Anthea knew the number, but it was as if all the hard work I'd put in, becoming a fugitive, keeping us alive, was wiped away by the oh so normal action of opening a text." Toying with the straps of his kit, his eyes still on the scenery, "This was a different kind of video. The others were good production values, soft lighting and close to the action. But this one hit home with the first solid whack of the truncheon to the eventual agonised screams.

Finally looking away from the window to glance at Mary, "It was the CCTV footage of my rape. No crazy man doing a voice over, nothing, just the stark, muffled sounds of my beating and rape."

Mary breaks in, without looking away from the road, "Oh god John! How awful for you, what did you do."

John shakes his head a bit, "I chucked the mobile and bought a pay-as-you-go one. Needless to say I was a bit off by the time we got to Terni. I was so twisted up all I did was hide in our room and snap at Harry if she asked me to come out with her." he clears his throat and Mary thinks he must be feeling upset.

"It's not as though Harry was going out and screaming where we were, but she wasn't trained for this stuff. She needed my help and I was having a breakdown in our room! She got us some food in, and figured out where the bus and train connections were, she was great. But on the fifth day, just as we were packing to go there was a knock at the door."

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	15. Real Nowhere Man

John looks through the peephole in the hotel door to see the same young man that has been bringing their food the past three days. Sweat is rolling down his temples and John spares a moment to feel bad for the kid in the kitchen's polyester uniform running around in the un-air-conditioned hotel hallways.

His reedy english drifts through the door, "The manager has sent up a free lunch appetiser for you, to say thank you again for the number of times you frequented our dinner hall."

John shakes his head, laughing a bit; the thanks for their patronage has been frequent over their five day stay. Indeed the manager's Mum's tiramisu is the biggest reason John has been feeling more like himself again. So happily he opens the door and the young man strolls in pushing the overly elaborate cart.

"Thank you very much, oh let me get those out of your way," John quickly reaches out and chucks their rucksacks into the large wardrobe in the front hall gesturing the boy further in. "Please put it over by the table." The young man nods and pushes by John, in the following three or four seconds John notices two things, one the boy is positively shaking and two that he's rolling the cart toward Harry, not the table as instructed, then the bellboy pivots and sprints for the door.

John, enraged and wanting to catch him, shouts at Harry to drop down between the wall and the bed, then turns to grab the bellboy. That's when the cart explodes and John is thrown by the force into the on-suite.

Moments later John sits up and shakes his head trying to clear out the familiar ringing in his ears. Being used to sudden fire fights and shelling from his tours in Afghanistan he takes a second to blink his vision clear and take stock of his own injuries. His right shoulder feels like it's on fire, but the sensation is dulling down even as he notices it, 'Wrenched but not quite dislocated shoulder, must have hit the door frame on the way through,' other that that everything seems in near perfect order.

From experience he knows that kind of bomb is meant to start a fire that will burn the hotel down, preferably with them in it. The drill sergeant part of his mind snaps to, 'Get a bloody move on Watson! Get Harry and get the hell out of there before the smoke kills both of you!'

Grabbing onto the counter in the loo he drags himself upright and looks around the corner into the blast area. The whole room is in charred tatters, the mattress is flipped back and he fervently hopes it is sheltering his sister. Carefully John steps over the burning bits of furniture, not bothering to try to find out what is what, their bags are safely in the large dented wardrobe by the door. The damage to the main part of the room, though catastrophic, is not his problem.

Roughly clearing his throat, John carefully picks his way over to the flipped mattress and wrenches it away, underneath lies Harry, unconscious, pinned between the bed and the wall. Quickly the veteran sees that the explosion has shifted the bed off it's usual spot and the heavily framed thing is applying a lot of pressure on his sister. With the time of a few breaths of RECI as he scans the bed, sees John bracing his legs low against the wall and pushing against the frame, away from Harry. She rolls onto her front with a low moan and the wheels in the trauma surgeons brain are instantly churning, worry blossoming sharp and quick, but now wasn't the time for triage.

Carefully positioning her on her front John, ignoring the twinge from his left shoulder and the screaming, bright fire of pain receptors, in his right shoulder, slides his left forearm, from over her left shoulder, under her collar bones, to grip the front of her right shoulder joint. His half-numb right arm he slides under her abdomen to grip the front of her left hip. Summoning all his strength, using his own chest as a stand in for a spinal board, John, positions his left foot as close to Harry's shoulder as possible, then presses his sister firmly to his chest as he heaves both of them upward in one clean move.

Regardless of his care an ominous grinding sounds in his ears. So loud that he looks around for a breath suspecting it was the buildings structure groaning, and worried that if he moved the floor would give way. But once Harry is securely against his chest and John has stopped moving the sound stops as well. A brief thought flickers through his mind, 'wish it had been the building.'

Carefully he picks his way out, skirting the flames that are catching well, and heading for the hallway. As he passes the young man slumped against the door John notices his hand moving slightly. His oath in the forefront of his mind John carefully walks four doors down the hall and lays Harry down. Out of necessity John leaves his sister on the floor, amongst the few people arriving to see what the commotion is all about, to return to the room. As he approaches the room John heard someone call out, "...i soccorritori!" But John couldn't wait, thick black smoke was beginning to collect and waft out the door.

Just past the, now mostly awake, bellboy was the wardrobe with their things and as John reaches past him to collect them and chuck them down the hall - first selecting out the pack with the laptop slinging it over his shoulder - before the jangling of the Hippocratic oath makes John scoop him up and bring him down the hallway as well.

Now able to move into triage mode John assesses his sister. In that first few seconds, while looking over Harry, lifting her shirt to see the crooked bruise across her sternum, unfortunately validating that first awful prognosis of a fractured sternum. John runs over the list of injuries, which could have several complications, not the least of which is bruised lungs or heart and carefully searches for evidence of these.

Whilst doing this diagnosing with most of his mind, his right hand was furiously texting Anthea. The response is immediate, she instructs him to keep the burner mobile on and she'll follow it where ever he goes.

Now free to find out what the hell is going on John turns back to the young man who is now moaning and groaning on the floor beside them. John flickers a look about, shocked there's only three people there and the wail of fire trucks is still in the distance. Checking the time on the mobile John starts to realise it's only been a little over four minutes since the bomb went off.

His face set in a grim snarl he levers the boy up by the front of his polyester shirt, "Why? Why would you do that?"

The busboy, instead of feigning ignorance just shakes his head, "My Mama, he would let her go if I did as he asked and hurt you. He said he just want to warn you, make you scared, I'm sorry, so sorry!"

His face smoothing out instantly, John gently lowers the young man back down. Having understood the leverage Moriarty has on the poor kid he starts looking him over, possible concussion, split scalp and bruised back, but that is about it.

A sudden thunder of footsteps and John is looking up into the face of a fire rescue person in full gear behind a fireproof baclava and full face mask. They are trying to give him an oxygen mask. It's as though his brain was ignoring everything but his two 'patients', the hall is rapidly filling with thick smoke and the former spectators have all gone. Gratefully taking the mask and pulling in sweet thick oxygen John pulls it away and fits it over the bellboys mouth while John tries to talk to the person hovering over him. "I am a doctor, do you understand english?"

There's a head shake and then John feels a hand on his, the bellboy is asking him to move his hand and gesturing the rescuer closer. A few seconds of whispered conversation and the boy smiles up at John breathing in the mask. A second rescuer comes and offers another oxygen mask to him, but he just holds it intent upon talking to John, "I can tell them for you, tell me."

John smiles back, "Tell them they need a spinal board for her, her breast bone is broken. At this point I think that is all, her pulse and breathing are normal so I don't think she has bruised either of those organs...yet." He stops to breath in the oxygen again while the young man whispers the info into the rescuer's ear.

By this time someone has fitted Harry with an oxygen mask too and a flurry begins as the man talking with the bellboy shouts a few instruction, moments later someone with a spinal board appears and they gently lift Harry onto it.

John turns back urgently, "Tell them you have a split scalp, possible concussion and extensive bruising across your chest, you were very lucky." Reaching down and grabbing the kids arm, "I have to go with Harry, but don't tell them you put the bomb on the cart, he'll kill your mum, understand kid?! It was NOT your fault!"

With that John, coughing hooks his oxygen firmly on his face, turns and follows the people moving carefully to the stairs with his sister suspended between them. Glancing at his mobile again he is shocked to see only eight minutes have passed.

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Mary's mouth is open slightly in shock, "What happened after that?"

John smiled, "Well, we were whisked off to the nearest hospital and Harry was sorted. They gave her an MRI to make sure there was no soft tissue damage and five hours, almost to the dot, after I texted Anthea she strode into the waiting room I was in and sat down beside me."

Her shock still evident, "Oh my god, she's like MI6 or something! What did she do?"

"Well she handed me over a lump of money a new laptop and took my fake ID, replacing it with a new one. Apparently she gave the owner of the hotel enough money to rebuild and a sizeable extra to keep him from advertising what occurred. I was well glad of that. She then told me that as soon as Harry was out of the MRI she would take her back to the UK. They had a safe house on Sark that Anthea thought would be a good place for her once the chest was healed enough. Till then they would keep her moving from hospital to hospital to keep ahead of Moriarty."

Suddenly turning away again his voice trembles a bit, "You have to know I didn't want to leave her, but Anthea pointed out that she wasn't Moriarty's focus, I was, and she'd be safer. Not to mention I'd hide better alone."

Mary waits quietly for a long time, allowing John to get himself under control, "So I took my things and hopped on a bus to Germany. Having been stationed there quite a while in my training and first tour I could make a run at not resorting to english every time. I was aware I wouldn't be mistaken for a native speaker, but at least I was just a random foreigner who was trying hard with the language. Rather than that British bloke that had a bit of german, and that was it. That was the last time I had direct contact with any of them."

For a few minutes the car is silent as the grave, then Mary turns away, turns on her signal light and merges into traffic. John, half turned away from her, stares resolutely out the window. 'Oh god,' Mary finds herself thinking, 'this is going to be a long twenty-four hours!'

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So there you go! Things are falling into place quickly now (wish I could say that makes writing them easier), as promised the next chapter will have more Sherlock in it, I'm not sure when... I've fallen I'll and can't remember what my brill idea for that chapter was, or where I scribbled it down! But I'll keep looking!  
Ta  
Oopse forgot RECI and MRI! RECI is a soldiers vernacular for RECON wich is a short form for reconnaissance. I don't know why they do it, but they often do. MRI refers to the Magnetic Resonance Imager that is usedtile an ex-ray, but to view the soft tissues. They are too cool. Anything else pm me!


	16. Nowhere Plans

And now back to Sherlock ;)

Inside the holding cell the arrested persons as well as their respective officers were separated into several small groups all hovering as closely to the back of the room as they can, as far away from the tall, thin, dark and malevolent man slouching beside the doorway with DI Lestrade. It only took a few moments, during which the relevant police officers scribble in their note books at a pace, while the tall man spit out their darkest secrets.

Lestrade allowed Sherlock this stress release, the 'victims' of his brilliance were all handcuffed so no one could take a swing at Sherlock and they mostly began to plead with their arresting officer to get them away from the 'mind reading freak'. Often admitting to their crimes as well as ones they weren't even being charged with in order to be allowed to get away from the baleful, colourless eyes glaring down at all of them.

Only when that pale gaze falls on one of the officers does Lestrade pipe up, "Not now Sherlock, you can tell me everything later."

"But you won't know who I'm talking about then, your hardly intelligent enough to remember which men are in this room." Lestrade winces already seeing the faces of the two female officers turning red, but Sherlock is quick enough this time. "Oh please, even you must think he's smart enough to remember the two women present, he did manage to attain the rank of DI. I just know the seven almost identical males will give his recollection a bit of a test."

The pinched expression on all of the law enforcement officers signals the end of this method of entertainment to Lestrade. Sighing deeply he moves to stand in front of Sherlock, lowering his voice for his friend alone. "If you can contain yourself you'll lose less face. You and I both know your brother is currently collating all the info he can to prove you weren't the one who pinched the kids, but you and I have to give him the time. This means..."

With a suffering sigh, "That I must behave and not be, what did he say, 'belligerent'." A small sigh escapes, "Do you believe me?"

Without even pausing for breath, "Of course I do Sherlock."

For a long moment Sherlock deduces his friend, searching his entire demeanour for evidence of a lie. In the end he comes up with nothing and has to bow his head to hide the damning evidence in his own expression - the tell tale prickle he feels in his eyes. When he feels he can trust his voice Sherlock forces out a rough, "Cheers."

Lestrade leans up against the wall beside Sherlock and keeps thinking quickly, he needs to keep his charge busy before people clue into the fact that he has actually arrested Sherlock Holmes. In his pocket his mobile buzzes and Lestrade grabs for it quickly, he's been waiting for this message.

15/09/13 20:47(withheld) The pertinent information on the whereabouts of SH has been forwarded to your chief, you are free to release him. This JM is getting ridiculous, they must be stepping up their efforts to keep us busy. As if we aren't busy enough with the Duchess in hospital.

Lestrade looks up to see Sherlock reading his own text and is about to say something about leaving when one of the officers who left first for processing pops back into the room. "DI Lestrade, that was an amazing ploy! Not that we can do it all the time, the punters will eventually catch on. But pretending to book in Sherlock Holmes so he can do that thing he does on the people we're bringing in! Brilliant! All of the interrogation rooms are full, each one of those men and women saying they'll happily agree to any of their charges provided we promise to never let Mr. Holmes at them again. What a night! Next time warn the booking desk so they can call in more staff!" With a chuckle the officer leaves and Sherlock and Lestrade share a moment of stunned silence.

Shaking his head Lestrade thinks on the text and the current flurry they're causing. "God Sherlock, life is just odd around you."

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Riding up in the lift Sherlock clears his throat, "You have someone feeding your team false information and we need to find out who."

Lestrade holds a hand up to stop him talking, "Wait." So the rest of the ride and their progression to Lestrade's office are carried out in silence. Most don't blink, at Sherlock's appearance in the Met as it is a normal occurrence. But one Sargent Donovan is slack jawed with shock.

Slowing in his stride as they pass her desk Lestrade mutters to her, "Give me a moment and I'll call you in." Then they disappear into Lestrade's office. Donovan leans back in her chair with a bitter twist to her mouth.

Once the door latches Sherlock starts to pace the room, Lestrade closes the blinds and pulls a bug sweeper out of his desk. Hardly a flicker to his hands from Sherlock, without breaking his stride he comments, "So my brother gave you some spy kit, do you sweep the room often? The mole must be someone who has frequent contact with Donovan."

"I hate to suggest it..."

Sherlock interrupts him with a sharp gesture, "No, Anderson might be lax at times in his job, a philanderer, and not make the best career choices. But I don't see him as having the psychopathic tendencies necessary to fool me all this time."

With a disbelieving snort, "Is that a Sherlock way of saying, he's a nice enough sort?"

"If you must dumb it down, that is an approximation."

With a second snort Lestrade puts his bug sweeper down and gestures thhrough the doorway for the sergeant to come in. Moments after the door shuts the three of them in there alone. "Why is he walking around and not in a cell?"

Lestrade uses his sweeper to make sure she isn't bugged then tosses the device in a drawer. "The chief has received adequate proof that Sherlock was not involved, regardless of how the ambassador's daughter reacted."

"And we're just supposed to believe it?! He's a bloody genius, he could have easily faked the proof he needed. How can you let him convince you like this?"

With a quick look to Sherlock, who nods, "Look, let's all sit down for a minute." Perching on the edge of his desk he offers up his chair to Donovan, who reluctantly, glaring at Sherlock, takes the seat. "The reason why I know Sherlock didn't go anywhere near that girl, is because I was playing 'All Fours' with him, his Brother and his landlady all afternoon, evening and well into that night. I had my eyes on him the entire time, unless he could have nipped out and done everything, including the sexual assault in the time it takes me to visit the bog. What do you think?"

Suspicion level a bit lower she cocks her head to the side, "Spending free time at 221B sir? Why?"

Sherlock's voice surprises them both by offering, "I had indicated to the DI that I might be a danger to myself for various reasons if left alone." Ignoring the confusion on Donovans face he plows on, "So I spent just under thirteen hours with the three of them, and the following six hours with DI Lestrade and my brother alone in my flat."

Donovan shakes her head, "Okay, but why didn't you just say that straight off?" Lestrade sighs, "Because I couldn't be assumed impartial and Mycroft couldn't be officially listed as a witness, nor is he impartial. His landlady, though a witness and not officially involved, is also not impartial either! So to make sure clearing him stuck we had to wait till enough hard, third person information was gathered and sent in, and that wasn't as quick as normal today. Mycroft being run about with the gathering fervour over the Duchess being in labour.

Donovan laughes, "Your brother had his people comb the CCTV feeds to track Sherlock to and from Baker St didn't you."

"Yes," Lestrade responds, "Sherlock has been well behaved since all this funny business started and not avoiding the cameras like usual."

With a harsh laugh, "Oh please, as if they wouldn't jump at the chance to not be covering the birth of a child! As if it doesn't happen thousands of times all over the planet daily!"

"Sherlock," Lestrade starts in a beleaguered tone when suddenly a young man pops in the room with barely a knock, "Detective! The young girl has finished with the sketch artist and it's quite telling!" Offering over a large picture to Lestrade he grins rakishly at Donovan and then rushes on again.

"Well that tears it, have a look you two." and he hands the sketch over. The man depicted is definitely not Sherlock, the difference very clear with the lack of colour. The eye shape is too rounded, the eyebrows and lips far too thin, the hair too neat and tidy. This coupled with the lack of gaunt hollows to the cheeks makes it clear.

Sherlock hisses under his breath, "That man is familiar, but why?" Moments later he is staring quietly out the window searching his mind palace.

Donovan shakes her head at the detective's behaviour then looks to her boss, "So someone is trying to frame 'his nibs' then?" At Lestrade's nod she continues, "Why?"

With a toes deep sigh he is to explain, "Do you remember James Moriarty? Do you remember how he was obsessed with Sherlock?"

"Yes I do, he was some kind of genius too wasn't he? Was the one who caused all that trouble a few years back with that guy... uhm, his name was John wasn't it?"

Snapping abruptly out of his mind palace Sherlock narrows his eyes at her, "Doctor John Hamish Watson to you Donovan." Ignoring Lestrade's shocked face he continues on, "I have discovered who the sketch depicts. It is Colonel Sebastian Moran, he was John's commanding officer for a while. I suggest you run that name and see what you come up with."

With that he rushes out the door as Lestrade and Donovan stare after him.

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Donovan sighs, she's not too sure how to feel about this new information. On one hand proof that the detective isn't behind the kidnapping is a relief, if only because then he didn't lie to them and she can trust her instincts about him again. On the other hand that feeling of vindication was nice. The one that comes from knowing she'd been right about him all along. She thinks back to that long forgotten conversation with Watson, 'Some day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there.'

Suppressing a groan of frustration she keeps doggedly on the path that her thoughts are taking. Donovan knows the reason she said such spiteful words to Watson long ago were that she was seething from the 'deductions' that Sherlock had made about her and Anderson. She isn't usually the kind of person who will slander someone, kind of a behaviour they frown on in the police service and she's never had a problem with it before meeting Sherlock Holmes.

With a muted chink a cup appears in her field of view. Looking up she sees her young constable friend. "Hey there Angela, is that coffee for me?"

Angela laughs, "No it's for your desk. Though I don't recommend pouring it on the surface so it can enjoy it, might be the last thing the desk experiences. This shite could eat straight through titanium!" The two giggle as they sip at their respective cups of 'titanium acid'.

"Anything interesting happen today Sally?"

If she hadn't just been in a conference with Sherlock Holmes she probably would have missed the even balance of that question. How the inflection was completely perfect, not natural and spontaneous, rehearsed. Stalling for time by taking another sip Sally glances up to Angela's eyes.

As soon as Angela notices she's looking her in the eye she smiles wider and the flat expressionless look in her eyes disappears. Smirking Sally laughs, "No, thank god. No new murders. Though I might be starting to sound like," Sally watches her friends expression closely, "the freak when I say I wish somebody'd get offed so I can stop being so bored!"

Her careful scrutiny is rewarded by a quick flicker of something not quite right in Angela's eyes. Riding her gut reaction Sally swallows her own reaction and listens to the young woman's response.

"I'm not surprised Sally, if you have nothing new to investigate then it's the dreaded paperwork mines!"

Taking the escape where she can get it, Sally smiles, "Oh god no! Paperwork!" they collapse into more giggles, Sally works hard at it sounding exactly as childish and naive as before. Looking down at her watch Sally fakes frustration, "Shite! The DI wanted me to track something down before lunch!"

Angela looks at her watch and horror colours her face, "Well for your sake I hope it's photocopies! It's ten to!"

Standing quickly Sally heads to Lestrad's office with a call over her shoulder, "Nah, I'll face the music! Catch you for drinks after work?" Receiving a positive response she quickly walks into the office and closes the door.

Lestrade looks up with a confused look on his face as she reaches across her desk and pulls the bug sweeper out of his drawer and checks herself. After it blips a negative on finding any bugs she passes it back to him to put away.

"Donovan?"

"Lestrade I think I have just 'made' a mole in the Met." At his incredulous expression she continues, "I have a friend, Angela, who is a constable here in the Met. I have known her for a little over a year and until just now I have never realised she is a complete and utter fake."

Typing away at the computer Lestrade quickly verifies that there is a constable 'Angela' that works in the Met. "And why do you suddenly think there should be a 'mole'?"

"Well come on, she was a breath away from pumping me for information on my favourite freak! And when I told her nothing happened today she was disappointed, very disappointed, she lost her mask for a second and I managed to catch it. I fully expected her to start talking about the awaited birth, she's very much a royalist so it should be the first thing on her mind today. But nope, not a word."

"All I can think is that she's been planted to be my confidant or something. Who do you think I was talking to about the kids reaction to Sherlock, huh? Given how badly that Moriarty bloke wants Sherlock there has to be someone watching us and Angela is the perfect cover." Not realising exactly how much she just sounded like her nemesis pacing up and down the room making proclamations Sally Donovan whirls to glare at her boss when she thinks she hears a low chuckle. But Lestrade's face is placid and helpful in expression.

The door swings open on this tableau and in strides Sherlock Holmes, "I don't care what your up to, it's time to come with me." with an uncomfortable look at the large stack of paperwork he has to do yet that day Greg Lestrade ushers Donovan out the door in front of him after pocketing the sweeper. What ever Sherlock is on about had better be good.

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Ok! I had a lot of fun with this chapter ;) things in order of appearance:  
In the UK prisoners in station houses are not put into large cells all together (the typical holding cells) once done being booked in they go in single person cells till they are moved for trial etc. So in order to get Sherlock at all of them I started before they're actually booked and waiting in processing.

I refer to 'the Duchess' being in hospital a few times in this chapter, this is a little bit of fun on my behalf. She went into hospital this morning (22/07/13) at 6am in the early stage of labour and is still giving birth now, 8hrs later. The media frenzy has been a bit mad. Yes I'm supper glad she's having a baby and I'm a bit of a royalist (someone who likes the monarchy or follows the Queen on Facebook), but I do feel bad for her. She'd doing a super private thing in the middle of a media circus (even the news reporters after the first three hours of standing outside the hospital/Buckingham palace started suggesting we pay more attention to the other news) and that is more pressure than a woman in labour needs to be experiencing!

I do have Sherlock being pretty nasty about it, happens every day everywhere, comment about childbirth. But that's just him, not me ;)

Sally uses the term 'his nibs' which is aBritish slang term used, jokingly, to refer to someone who is a bit full of themself, snobbish, and/or aristocratic. Who, basically, has an over-large ego... Fits don't it?


	17. A Bit Like You And Me

Sitting in the driver's seat Mary looks in the mirror and adjusts the short brunette wig on her head. With a laugh she looks over at John who has popped on a bald cap and is stippling fake black/brown scruff on his face and neck using the small sun visor mirror. "I don't think anyone will mistake you for yourself John!"

John joins her in a chuckle, "And between that wig and your super flattening sports bra you'll look an awful lot like a bloke to those cameras." After fending off a couple fists to the shoulder John looks over to see a stranger smiling at him.

A spike of hope jumps in his belly, they might just make it! Having bought a new phone and a map at a small shop near the costume shop John laughs as he starts working on a text for Anthea. The plan is simple, they have been up for over 48hrs, though they did nap on the boat, so they will split the driving into two hour shifts and the other will sleep if they can while not driving. In about six hours they will stop and get more food and hopefully John will tell his final tale. It's sitting like a stone cat, curled up on his heart, and he needs rid of it!

Mary, though incensed by the comment, is still smiling at John, happy to see so much more of the self-assured man in his bearing. The slumped shoulders of defeat are gone and he seems to take up three times as much space in the car by attitude alone. Shaking her head she carefully follows the shop keep's instructions to get back to the main roads.

They were to take the Strada Provinciale 48 north, away from the coast, turn onto the SS280 via the E848 headed for the A3, follow that until they got to Naples and there make the switch to the A1 to take them to Rome. In Rome they would stop to eat stock up on food to make the push through the rest of Italy and get into France.

John tries to get comfortable in his seat, reclining it a bit and propping his feet on his kit. Smiling a touch at the avid look of concentration on Mary's face he speaks up before he can fall asleep, "Your on the main road?"

Mary shakes her head no, "Still on the feeder road, but the shop keep said this one merges right onto the A3."

John nods closing his eyes, "Okay, wake me in two hours. Feel free to play the radio, open the windows, air con, whatever you need to stay awake."

"No worries John, I'll stay awake no problem, I used to drive up to Newcastle to visit my Aunt in the holidays and that is a day long trip if you have good luck with the traffic and construction!" Glancing over at his placid face she smiles to herself popping in the earbuds from her iPlayer and pressing play.

Gripping the steering wheel she starts lip syncing to Keane's 'Bedshaped' as she flows with traffic through the lovely southern Italian countryside.

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For the first time in years John sinks happily into sleep, the sound of the car rolling relentlessly over the tarmac lulling him down, with a singular deep sigh he finds himself falling through layers of consciousness. This time the nasty things lurking in his mind are not on display, they are dulled and fuzzy, easily ignored as he slips past them slotting gently into a singularly beautiful dream.

A deep feeling of calm and bliss envelops him as he slowly blinks his eyes open to see Sherlock across the sitting room puttering about in the kitchen. The clothes he's wearing are a bit crumpled and he has a gleefully mad look on his face as he dances about the kitchen. Snorting quietly at his love's odd habits John looks down at himself to realise he too is in rumpled attire. 'Ah, the day after our mutual wank to a description of how I'd take him apart like a pressent. I see.'

A part of him is aware that this is a dream recollection of a memory, and part of his mind and soul believe this joy, however impossible, is real. On one side he's just staring at Sherlock, knowing that very soon he's going to get the supreme pleasure of that ass. And on the other he's cringing away, mentally, knowing that it has been years since he saw his lover and that he may never see him alive again.

Rocketing heavenward on earth-shattering joy he feels the cloying desperation of reality clinging, but he shoves it away and delves into his memory, letting the actual time line of that day slither through his fingers like soapy bubbles. Popping with sharp bursts of pleasure that spiral down his spine pooling in his loins.

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Mary is laughing at a crazy podcast she had saved on her iPod and enjoying the uniqueness of the southern Italian interior countryside. The land seems very flat and smooth, almost quilt-like, with the occasional big hill or mountain sticking up out of the middle. Not surprising for an area that's been farmed for thousands of years! The golden velvet of the fall harvest draws her eye, so bright on the fields, this Autumn day.

Out of her periphery she catches John moving, his back arches and a quiet moan slips out of his throat as his head falls sharply forward jerking him awake. For a few moments she thinks she saw wrong, as there is no reaction from her friend. No, 'hey is it almost my time to drive?', or, 'Did you see anything nice?' Nothing. Unreasonable worry crawling up the back of her throat she looks around for a lay-by or something.

In between trying to decipher signs in a foreign language, Mary glances over to John and each time all she sees is his body rigid in the seat, his face turned away toward the window. After a few minutes of silence Mary finds herself muttering, "It's okay John, whatever it is, just give me a couple minutes and we'll sort it out, ok? John?"

Finally, there is an amenities coming up in a kilometre and Mary turns in without blinking. As soon as the parking break is pulled she turns to check him over. John is still sitting there stiffly, his eyes trained out his passenger window, but, now that the car has stopped, she can see a fine tremor running through his frame accentuating the tight position of his body. Her internal worry ramping up even more she manages to choke out, "John? You awake?"

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John's heart aches, he feels as though there was a biting, cold pain chewing through the actual muscle of the organ. Gnawing on the side of his own tongue in desperation he tries not to voice the clawing panic and loss he feels.

He had his beloved in the dream and it was transcendent! The joy of that physical act suffusing his every thought. The dream had gathered his memories close and John had opened his arms to it. Horrifically the event was different enough to fool him and that's just what it did. Somehow, half way through, the sequence changed so that he started to believe he was awake, that because they stayed in bed as apposed to running off after Lestrade's beckoning, it must be a new memory, not a fiction of his dreaming mind.

In short, John had started to believe he had been awake the whole time and waking up lying stiff and upright in the car seat brought the loss of what he and Sherlock shared all back, all at once. Instantly wracked with silent sobs, tears streaming down his face John tries desperately to get a hold on his emotions, Mary's comforting murmur a faint reminder of her existence. The sheer anguish is controlling him and all he can do is tremble in it's grasp.

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"John?" a few tense moments pass before he wipes his eyes and slowly turns to look at his partner in crime. "Are you okay?"

Nodding sharply, "Yeah, just a rough dream is all. I'll be fine in a minute." Hunkering over his kit John tries to force the freshly burning pain of his loss away as he stretches forward and back in the seat. "Is it my turn to drive soon?"

Mary nods, "Yeah we might as well switch, it's been a bit under two hours, but not by much." Looking toward the building they are parked by, "Do you need the loo?"

"Better, just to be sure, you go first." Shortly Mary returns with and armload full of different flavours of nougat. Laughing John heads out to the main road after a quick trip inside, "They'll be scraping us off the roof of this car if we get stopped with all that sugar!"

Mary just smiles gleefully at him, devours two packets and then falls into a 'sugar coma' sleep.

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Italy passes in a blur of fields, random hills and peaks sticking up here and there. Not willing to go back to sleep so soon John keeps driving long after the two hour marker has been reached. Mary is sleeping soundly as he pulls into another amenities stop and cuts the gas. Feeling a bit irritated with himself for being afraid to feel the emotions from a dream again, John quietly gets out of the car and locks Mary in.

Inside he collects together some food and drinks they can consume in the car and stops in the chemists to see if they have sleeping pills. Unsurprisingly they have a vast selection of things to keep one awake, but nothing that John is comfortable taking to get to sleep while driving shifts. Most are marked with warnings about drowsiness and such. Muttering curses under his breath John resigns himself to not sleeping till they get back and grabs a double handful of the caffeine pills. The cashier raises a meticulous eyebrow at him and John shrugs. The young man looks to the car he saw John climb out of, notes the second person snoring away and rings the pills up.

Seven and a half hours later Mary stirs, John winces knowing she's going to be mad at him and waits for her to notice that it's dark. He waits silently as she blinks her eyes open and then just stares at the windscreen for a moment.

"John, why is it dark?"

Carefully not looking over to see how angry she is John answers, "Because it's twenty past two in the morning."

Her voice coloured slightly with irritation, "John Watson, did you let me sleep through a sunset in the Italian countryside?"

Turning his head quickly in surprise John sees she is not as mad as he had thought she would be, "Uhm, you'll get to see the sunrise in France?" he tries to play it off gently.

"Well yes, thank you for the sleep, I feel great, but next time stick to the plan, ok?" She watches the man beside her wriggling a bit in discomfort before continuing, "You can drive for a while still my brain isn't quite up to dual-carriageway speed yet."

Blushing a bit at the reprimand John stops looking for a lay-by where they can switch places, "Right, just let me know, I'll be fine for a bit yet." Glancing over to assess if she really is accepting what has happened, or is just stewing over it, John decides to just go for it. "We're in Monaco, and from there it's only a few minute to Nice, which is a resort town so we should be able to find someplace open."

"You mean to tell me we are in another country already? I slept through Italy?"

John winces internally, wondering if avoiding the dream, that might not even come, was worth the vitriol spewing in the seat beside him. Gazing longingly at passing cars that have no passengers he prepares to wait Mary's rage out.

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Okay, so this is where I beg the forgiveness of my readers (if I have any left!) for taking so long. All I can say is there are two reasons, one it's summer holidays so I have no time to my self at all! Secondly the subject matter in this one (John's dream and his reaction) is something that I wrote about from experience.

I have lost various people in my family, really only my older sister is left, and from time to time, when I'm stressed or vulnerable somehow, I dream they are still alive and when I wake up the loss happens all over again. I hoped that if I gave it life somewhere else it'll stop haunting me. Yeah, sorry, that was total over-share, but I wanted you all to know what he feels is real, to someone ;)

And if you don't know what nougat is, make it your food mecca, because it is GLORIOUS!


	18. Sitting In His Nowhere Land

Okay, so here is the usual apology, but with a twist. I am really sorry for the long wait, but happily the next won't be long. You see I didn't write this chapter first, I wrote the next chapter and was almost done when I realised it's been a REALLY long time since the bad guys put an oar in. Honestly once the idea occurred to me it wouldn't let up. So here you go, have some Moran!

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Sebastian glares at the intel in irritation because it doesn't add up. Jim has gone 'dark' since arriving at those caverns in Greece and while the texts did seem like the kind of thing he'd send, they weren't...there was something... He shakes his head like a bear crawling out of a river, there is something off, he just has to settle down and figure out what.

Thinking about it all carefully he knows that it could be written off as his boss being irritated with Rob, with John getting the drop on him, and that most likely everything is fine. He's just in one of his usual tiffs; where one idiot has angered him, yet everyone pays with his short temper and blood thirsty disposition. Still the back of his neck prickles at the thought of Jim coming back and not in a pleasant anticipatory manner.

With a grunt of frustration he turns to look over the live feeds he has on Sherlock. Jim got inventive over the years, and not only does he have a back door hack into the CCTV on Baker St and St. Barts, but he has hacked into - and even placed - a few cameras inside the flat over the years.

Yes, it is true Sherlock finds and destroys them every few weeks, even though it is 'ghost surveillance', it's still easy enough for the genius to find them. Then Sebastian just waits for Mycroft's collectors to go in and replace them, then he hacks back into the system.

There hasn't been any deviations from the usual schedule Sherlock keeps; Sebastian snorts to himself over the idea of Sherlock doing anything in a definably 'regular' way. The mad man has become quite the recluse in the last year. Hardly works with the Yard any more, just goes occasionally to watch interrogations and give advice. After the last case where a young woman who was abducted and raped broke down when the almighty Sherlock Holmes walked in, there haven't been any private cases on offer either.

Sebastian wonders if Sherlock's pesky brother has something to do with that. Someone was keeping him from going off the rails and it certainly wasn't the DI, which was also frustrating. Sherlock was supposed to be getting more and more restless, acting out in public from the frustration of people being so simple as to believe he's behind all the setups Sebastian himself has masterminded.

The plan was simple, with stage make-up and a permanent, Sebastian himself looked enough like Sherlock Holmes to fool a traumatised person. The last one, he added a few things, coloured contacts, lost a stone and toned up a bit, even tinting his hair darker, up and downstairs. After all he had assaulted the young thing, which was a much closer crime and the recount of minor details could blow the frame up wide open. Yet it held together and it was only the fact that Sherlock had an alibi, had been physically in a room with someone at the time of the rape, that he got off scot free.

'I'll get him next time.' So Sebastian thinks as he tags someone to go over the footage again while he tries to figure out what is bothering him. A dark corner of his mind that sounds disturbingly like Jim whispers to him that he's just afraid he went too far with the girl and they will see right away it wasn't Sherlock. 'The mad asexual detective raping a girl suddenly, it's a bit too much, isn't it?' whispers the voice sibilantly. Shaking his head again Sebastian pulls back to the problem.

A real source of this irritation is that James Moriarty has not accessed any of the 'dead drops' in Spain, not a single one. Sure Sebastian knows Jim has accounts no-one, not even he, knows about, but ready cash and weapons just sitting there? Sebastian's tactical mind can't explain why Jim wouldn't at least send Rob to collect the stuff if he was worried about it being watched. He as much as said Rob was a dead man walking, perfect for such a job and no loss if he got pinched.

Sebastian even finds himself privately wondering if Jim is 'burning bridges' with the organisation they moulded together, a sick private corner of his mind is writhing in insecurity. What if Jim isn't coming back? What if he's 'burned' Sebastian? What if he's off elsewhere to start up a new life with John fucking Watson!

With a growl he curses the fact that Jim has permanently disabled the GPS on his phone, fearing official tracking, which coincidently hampers him tracking Jim too. 'Sometimes physically checking is better.' So he calls up a list of agents in Spain and rousts them all to find out where Jim is. Leaning back in his chair he worries a bit about sending a 'passive probe' after his boss, but what else is he supposed to do? Sebastian has deep concerns for the safety and security of their little 'empire of dirt', and if Jim was here, Sebastian is certain he'd be asking him to do it.

Thrusting the problems aside he gets back to running said empire in Jim's stead.

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Going 'dark' is reference to a lack of communication or a trail of where the person is.

'Ghost surveillance' is supposed to be bugs and hidden cameras, but we all know Sherlock would find them ;)

To be 'burning bridges' means one is cutting themself off from an op gone horribly wrong.

Similarly with 'burned' though that is only the one person, and they are usually killed.

A 'passive probe' is a random uninvolved agent meeting up with someone on the job to assess the op.

And 'empire of dirt' is a nod to NIN and a dear friend of mine who's life is in. The shitter AGAIN, god she deserves so much more in life!


	19. Just See

Oh, look, another chapter! Just for my mate JJ who's feeling blue the hols are over, hope this cheers you up ;) And this chapter finally gives us the reason behind John going sooo deep into his cover.

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It took a good twenty minutes and two crisp, cold, Pastis for Mary to stop giving John the patented 'look of dire irritation' - less than the 'look of death...just - by then she was fiddling with the ice in her empty glass and smiling at everyone else.

"Well now that I'll not be relieving you on the drive for at least four hours, what do you have to say for yourself?"

John clears his throat, "Six hours actually, especially as you've not had anything to eat beyond sugary treats today."

Placing her glass on the café table with a thump, "And who's bloody fault is that now? I thought we were stopping in ROME to eat and now we are in France. France John, I missed three quarters of Italy!" Looking away and fiddling with the glass - making the ice chunks clink together - she lets out a deep sigh.

John senses she is relenting in her anger, a bit, and presses his advantage, "Look, I just can't face it, sleeping I mean. Just thinking about closing my eyes makes me break out in a cold sweat. So I kept driving, I know I should have woken you and discussed it with you, but honestly we're both shattered and you needed to stay asleep as long as possible!" He puts up his hands in a placating manner, "I know I need it too, but I couldn't, can't, not until we get back, then I'll sleep a week, I promise."

Mary nods once, "Did you text Moran?"

Looking a bit more ill John pulls out Moriarty's mobile, "Yes. Told him we were chasing, well... me, up the western coast of Spain. At which point he got a wee bit stroppy and I had to put the fear of Moriarty into him." Thumbing through the texts he reads off what he sent back to the man they're duping.

"You think you know everything do you? Ignorant cunt. I've been doing this on my own for decades. You think you know every contact and resource I have on this planet? Don't strain yourself trying to figure it out and don't bother bootlicking in text. You can do your licking when I get back."

"Wow, that's pretty intense John." she looks at him askance, "Does it freak you out to write things like that?"

John looks into his large glass of cola for an extensive moment, "No. I know that doing this, writing such drivel and sending it to Moran is keeping him from attacking Sherlock. That is something I will always be able to do, no matter how distasteful."

Leaning over her empty glass she stares John in the eye with such an intensity that he cannot look away, "But where does it stop John? Is this how Moriarty started? By just scaring someone?"

"Maybe, when he was in middle school, but Mary I don't want to do it, and I won't ever again, that's the difference. If Moriarty did start like this he kept on because he enjoyed it, and the power it has, I don't. That is what makes it different."

No longer thinking about the message on the mobile, Mary watches as John's face draws in, his brows draw together and down, his chin sinking a fraction more toward his chest. To her limited knowledge of the man across the café table from her it seems as though some dark thoughts are overcoming him.

With a sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach, Mary wonders a moment if she has caused this weight on John's mood given her questions about his actions. Knowing she can't guess what he's thinking she resolves to just ask. Nodding curtly she dives in, "John? Where have your thoughts gone?" a touch of pink staining her cheeks, "If it isn't too personal to ask that is."

John watches the embarrassment evident in his companion for a few moments before reassuring her. "I was just thinking about how much I miss my sister Harry."

"Have you heard from her since you parted ways in Italy?"

His face tightening, John nods, "Yes, sort of. She didn't send it to me, but she did have a message for me, but that was years ago."

Mary is leaning closer now,"What do you mean that was years ago John? Where's Harry?"

Rubbing his hand up and down over his left leg, as the phantom pain stabs sharp and deep, John flashes a fake smile, full of teeth, bitterness, and despair. "I was staying in a cheep hotel near the Olympic park. I'd changed names again, was paying cash for everything, but I guess they tracked me some other way. I half think Moriarty had people at passport control in the Münich airport, because he found me pretty quickly. But again it was just a delivery, he was hoping to send me running scared and careless."

Looking down at his foot John toys with a few small pebbles, trying to distract himself from what is about to come up; surfacing in his memories like a leviathan of pain and horror. "There was a flash drive in the package, with a video on it. I was worried it was some kind of sick thing, like before, or footage of Sherlock in the shower, something like that you know. Thinking it was Jim flaunting the fact I've left Sherlock vulnerable to his attack, you understand? So I watched it.

His voice a shivery timber of anguish, "I didn't learn anything of his plans, but I did learn what a bastard he is. He had Harry. Boasted about how quickly he picked her up, that she hadn't even made it to Sark before he had her. All of this explained over time lapse photography of my sister being hung up suspended from manacles in the middle of a room, her feet just barely brushing the floor."

"Then the video slowed to normal speed as she was beaten, electrocuted and hosed down with cold water." there is a drawn out, uncomfortable silence at the table until Mary clears her throat.

"You can tell me John, you know that." Looking at him with an expression of encouragement in the upward tilt of her eyebrows and small, unpatronising, smile.

"I know, you have listened to me spewing horrors all day, but this is the final one. The end of Moriarty's deeds before we met." for a long moment they look at each other. A waiter comes by and asks them, in heavily accented english, if they would like anything else. Mary gives him some cash and a look that clearly states, 'we need privacy', with a nod the waiter pockets the excess money she hands over separately and disappears.

John breaths once deeply in and out, then he fixes Mary with hard eyes, the true horror still to come from his mind. "Harry was such a trouper," he whispers, "she's had her fair share of knock arounds, but nothing at all like this. It was a while after the explosion in the hotel so she was healed up, but only just. But there was a large scar running down her chest where they presumably opened her up, in theatre, to fix the broken sternum."

"She's smart too, my sister was the type to give as good as she got, especially verbally, but not this time. She was still and quiet as a mouse," his mouth twisting with the bitter taste of this memory, "when she could help it that is, the whole time they were trying to elicit a response from her. Then the super star came, Moriarty swanned on screen like the full on diva he is, I mean was, and started asking my sister what she wanted to tell me."

Shaking his head a bit, John straightens in pride, "For the longest time Harry held it in, didn't budge, no mater what wound or bruise the maniac was prodding. Then suddenly she started mumbling something under her breath and I really couldn't tell what it was, neither could Moriarty. He cussed her out some and in the next moments, from his responses to her, I could understand she seemed to be saying that she couldn't talk any louder."

"Then Moriarty steps back, scanning her to see if he can suss out if she's lying." A flicker of remembered fear shadows his eyes, "I, at this point, started worrying about her having re-injuring her chest, maybe a bone fragment has punctured her lung this time and I think Moriarty was thinking the same."

"Harry was breathing funny, short shuddery breaths, that couldn't have been getting anything in her lungs. There was blood on her lips, but her face was so bashed up it could have had a more benign source. Time stretched out and she didn't change behaviour; he must have been waiting to see if she passed out from hyperventilating or something, but she didn't." casually, belying the serious nature of their conversation, John leans back in his chair a bit as he talks.

"He asked her what she had said again, moving closer than before, her muscles were lax and Moriarty couldn't get a beed on what she was up to. But I knew," smirking, John's voice takes on a sinister humour, "she was playing possum, she was the queen of playing possum. Important skills for someone who's had as many twists and turns in her life as she has. Feeling sick I watched as her arms suddenly tense," he pitches forward in his seat again and begins gesturing with his hands seemingly acting out Harry's movements, "fingers locking into the links on her manacles and baring up her weight that had been completely lax. Her legs snap up and she knocks Moriarty off his balance with her knees on the way up. He swerved to the side trying to turn away from her and get out of her reach. But damn," he actually grins at Mary, "all the years of play fighting with me, not to mention the self defence moves I taught her once I completed basic, made her more than a force to recon with!"

Carrying on the narrative with this dark glee and pride John reels her into the next few minutes of description, his tempo quick and evocative. "Moriarty thought she was the weak link in our family," his shoulder rises and drops once contemplatively, "and in some ways she was, but protecting family brings out the best in a Watson and she held to that maxim with tenacity! With her right foot she nudged his shoulder pushing him more into the spin, her left - her dominant side, she dropped the knee out, like she was sitting cross-legged in mid air. Stretching out her left foot in a parody of an arm's hugging position. Moriarty fetches up against that inner knee, and quick as a flash her other foot pops over the far shoulder and she pulls him back toward herself tightening her thighs around his neck. There is a flurry of movement as guards level weapons at her screaming at her to 'let the boss go'."

"By this point the camera isn't quite pointed at what's happening, it's slightly down and off to the left, knocked there by the man filming running to try and help." John shakes his head in amusement, "Moriarty's face had turned a bit purple by then and Harry was shouting to be heard. The stand off continued for breathless moments then suddenly I could hear Harry. She was saying something about letting Moriarty go if she could send her message."

"So the thugs quiet down and Harry, struggling wildly with the thrashing man between her legs, looks into the crooked camera, smiles and says, 'I always knew I was a black widow Jonny! I want you to disappear little brother, go to fucking ground so these assholes can't take revenge out on you. Stay strong. Hold fast.'"

He pauses a moment, looking anywhere but at Mary, moisture gathering along the bottom curvature of his eyes. His voice, when he forces it out has gone scraggily, "With her message sent, she shifted so the back of her calf was braced, all the way down to the heel, against his sternum and crossed the other calf over it applying three times the pressure on Moriarty's neck. With a shout of, 'I'm going to take you with me you filthy raping...' At which point the guards all fired their weapons and my sister's body jerked in several directions at once."

"The next moments were chaos as one man called for their shots to stop and then rushed forward to get the dead 'dike' - I heard that slander more than once - off their boss. They carried him away carefully and then I was left watching my sister bleed out, slightly off camera, from several gun shot wounds to her upper torso. Clearly they shot high to avoid hitting their boss. That was it, no message from Moriarty, nothing, just watching the puddle under her body grow." Quietly John leans back again, his hands falling still in his lap, forgotten.

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The only thing I think NEEDS explination is 'Pastis' which is a common drink in France, especially southeastern France. Seemingly enjoyed for simmilar reasons as Pimms, it is an anis flavoured drink that was created to fill the Absinthe void when it was banned. It's yummy ;)

Anything else, PM me.


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